given pieces of you or desire
broken in you like assailing skies. the music you bring by millpond almonds so
soft the way you ballet. a long motif, our years fighting science, our aches—pure
agony to despair. winds are split, wild harts leap, dusty romance has lungs. a
feeling in design so ontic it hurts so noetic I can’t find humans. it has
gotten in ways, rare art in solitary, it’s much easier to console you. by
trespass to have anguish by skipping to leap a ditch, or anxiety to be frozen
by energy. what love we bring what training we missed it becomes an inability
to sit stillness? peaches with rum, or sober one day, or so filled it disturbs
to see silence. justice in dens lions crying in deserts while cubs are in
trying distress. but searching utopia, at eyes meaning more, as souls come to
tribunal. a man of insignificance a humble man made inaudible. at a piano as
graving signs to have sung Tao.
you stand in villages or surrounded
by spheres so weak as strong such courageous anger; to give hope to assign
angels sullen cherubs have sought your company. but what is love, her girth,
her width? to have died in her youth, while we search antiquity, if to discover
habits. a killing ache, a warmer sign, so much more than love.
