a slower conduit, racing moves, I listen, I
learn. I’m still behind. running knees, pleading please, like mellow enough to
get in. it took time, bending winds, clutching fire. I heard the flame, I begged
the flame, I felt misread, pictureless, obeying rules.
I plucked a lilac. I felt it creeping. I often
wonder why faces change—tender into skylights, livid into a farmhouse, broken,
distrusted, with nothing to re-manage.
earth is filled with mistakes. spirit is
fraught by presence. so close to a furnace, so enthralled by a fireplace, like
wild to attend the campfire. a task shunning, focused on one, so narrow
sighted. a hundred grand on a wish, a million letters for a ghost, magnified in
glasses. I pick. I choose. I replenish appetites.
the gift of valor, we wonder about life,
to understand why some are interested, concerned, mowing the esoteric.
next art, calligraphy beauty, a foxglove
in ritual.
many are abandoned, seizing life, articulating
anguish, like a cell in a pool, it was too early to head home.
most mean good, a few mean darkness, like
a curse to do kindness; palming a freesia, a magnolia petal, meddling with a
scorpion; paper pain, ink innocence, alphabetical arrows.
hallways, chains, most don’t watch each
word, nor is the tongue tamed—wild waves, tossed to and fro, carried by the
accidentals.
