I trek energy, Love;
so bright and cadent, so lambent and musical: our theatrics, right; our crazed
respects, our ushered frustration: those eyes monitoring, those eyes
challenging, so young and pure but insistent: a father’s innocence, a mother’s
intentionality, where father couldn’t sense what mother sensed: our planes to
China, our Asian war-tides, so enchanted with Rome: at treasuries giggling, at
serious seconds, so charged by a sudden mood: so liquid with séances, so
intrigued by Renaissances, at nuance, casualty, and rain: those minutes
watching you, while consumed by madness, where Prima followed instructions:
this laid memoir, this delicate disposition, but memory becomes lucid: so clear
those nights, this struggle with mother, this battle with granny: this tickling
nothingness, where unsighted became
music, while allegations became terrible: despite, realism, despite, actuality,
despite bruises and mischief and something slightly arrogant: our days to
begging, our dreams to seas, where one watches, feels remorse, and continues
unsaid actions: our minds so rough, our feelings so hurt, plus, a frightened
disposition: this world of pomegranates, this village of peaches, where
inflamed passion lasts until one knows us:
but yours is innocence, and yours sings mythologies, and yours is enflamed
by mysticism: this ancient footing, this tread under clouds, this
sky-footprint: our palms gripping exospheres, our esoteric dialogues, so exotic
a pulse reaching into our future: those business enterprises, this reality by
questions, so sought, so captured, and such struggle: to imagine college life,
those difficult situations, to confess something ingrown: repeating messages,
the best as offered, so clouded by passive motivation: but yours are sights, even
secrets, so selective about reality: this fine predicament, looking at other
mothers, sensing this perfected aura: (I was so that way, listening more than
speaking, considered handsome and well-mannered: I’d comport this way, I’d ask
particular questions, I’d pass a compliment: such cadent music, such orchestra
hearts, while Love adored appreciation: this helmet frustration, those fathers
watching, those frequent visits): so touched by life, so intrigued with
silence, nudging, smiling, or laughing unbeknownst to reason: those symbolic sensations, those séance moments, so
metrical, so methodic: or acting without structure, infused by sudden anger,
where a young man is guilty for being inconsiderate: (that deep fear, so thrown
with life, a woman imagines that Love will leave: this wretched chaos, this
internal lute, where reality wouldn’t proffer opportunity: those sudden shifts,
to elicit a response, our days soliciting emotion: but yours offers hope, where
elders are a bit romantic, and mid-aged folks are a bit pessimistic: such
optimism, such caring planetariums, at something seeming saturnine: those
gloomy outlooks, this gloomy society, while young adults must adore life): hereinto,
this probing magnet, this core explanation, this land of antiques: your bulbous
mind, your watered ferns, while restructuring tumbleweed: so automatic, so
brain-like, so adored for multiple habits: semi-deceptive, semi-deliberate, or
quasi-determined: an absolute posit, or extreme bright darkness, so mechanic,
so liquid, so concrete: indeed, with allure, feeling insecurities, while
pressed to become something original:
Our dreams roving excitements, our
souls filled by acidic(s), this sea so lurid, those embarrassing colors, while
time has died: this lovely chaos, those filled springs, this intuitive lake,
this satori daughter.
