I was meditated.
helium would waft. some soft scent. because a man died, a daughter was lynched,
the color of eyes effaced. so much lowness so incomplete studying its merit:
why does poetry exist? is poetry an entity? can madness overcome behavior? I was
hidden, in some box, I was pulled out, released, where love is penultimate. I
would turn or churn or burn. too much country. too much unreasoning. or too
much logic. such delicate tears so much invisibility while we sense disclosure.
to become a daughter’s friend or to have seen skies where death seems unfair.
the ghost in shadows those wraiths in lights or signposts hanging midair. by
freedom to mourn while pain is crucial or such a loud cricket. by winds to flee
by miracle such timing by aches so lost—to crave love to remember leniency so
sweetly precious. to walk that road to become that map so dear to life. from
essence to presence. from birth ‘til death into some design beyond its mystery.
a man left today.
a soul must rebuild. it becomes terrible feelings. for dying while living or
pain without remedy—it seems best to cross into vapor. such an indecent realm
so much to be goodness while converted so into a galaxy. as time would spare a
sparrow or grayness becomes appeasing such low sound or high winds.
we mourn a loss we unbolt we grip a keel. we seek
solace in a mystic understanding knowing closure becomes serene. so late at
witnessing or so early at being there such deliberate love. as spun for
critical or found for running while it hurts to see it shed its ghost. a mind
finding itself a woman reminiscing a pain as it pinches—those vestibules those
doors so much experience between them.
