…it
becomes a miracle, living our inverted sins, and soaring our great lakes: about
such courage, in this region of make-believe, our souls grappling walls: at
unkind religion, or tragic insistence, where agony cries her opposite: our fair
goodbyes, while cringing at hopes, where tendencies probe literature: our
psychological manuscripts, our pamphlets about India, or our biblical
commentary: as seized by thunder, to notice resonance, or embarking upon our
campaigns….
We
would sense life, this curious creature, while comparing serendipity: this luck
in souls, this universal cadence, and our eyes seeking permanence: as bored
stallions or raving mad mares, while seated in sheer elegance: that brush for
water, to comb through beauty, or this gracious half-time: our souls seeping
into earth, our hearts soil-based, and our minds planted in abstracts: at resilient
seconds, such flaming intuition, while petting our wild horses.
I
remember admiration, this charming ankh, this remarkable entrance-piece: our
foxes sprinting, our hounds chasing, to find with life internal tensions: this
box for feelings, this coldness at heaters, or this furnace leaking its
philosophy: at seconds our eyes, at moments our loins, or at cavalier
excitement: our balanced imbalances, our cozy debates, or our minds perusing:
at banks with beavers, our scientists at studies, or our dams leaking.
…it
becomes metaphysical, this steep design, this extra-ordinary science: our meta-minds, our mindstuff, or this miracle unraveling softly: at accordion church,
or livid our graphs, our pirates studying sea-maps: this angular course, this
classroom whale, or this freshwater dolphin: those curious gestures, this
battle with information, or this essence with lights: our cinema unwinding, our
days coming to a close, where nights open into a parade: this edgy music, our
helium hearts, or at Time
negotiating: this losing chess, this winning second, to have for months our
winsome souls: as serious creatures, with playful designs, to encourage by
unsounded captures: those days of yore, those marvelous trysts, or more, this
magnificent soul-adventure….
I
unravel motion, this tent afar, while walking to self: this distant soul, this
casual debate, at this attempt to align this inner dimension: our clocks
pausing, as if for sights, while observation becomes this ticking silence: our
wrangling souls, our wrangling hearts, to find two at communication: this wild
wind, this gust of energy, or this second with intuition: that curve as
magnified, this inlet as stupefied, while life at seconds becomes glorified:
such softness bleeding, such rapture seeming soiled, or such kisses remaining
chained: our harping hearts, our fluting thought-links, or better, our
inter/intra-communications.
…we
close with love, this prehistoric, intangible affection streamed upon through
actions: this sentimental playwright, this curious creature, this overwhelming
cadence—at locks jimmied, at hearts shimmied, while trails point to
authentication: this flowing meadow, this casual caress, this inner sensation:
our coarse demands, our territory outlined, or our measures to never breathe
again: this lot of vicissitudes, this barrier of courage, at eyes revealing
this mysterious humanity: our forfeited epistemic, our manageable pragmatism,
or this existential challenge to capture a brilliant smile: as ships come to
dock, as sea-lions laugh, as our minds chase fragrant rains….
