I imagine what it feels like, a den
in high school, to fret affection, to live enthralled, to want nothing aside
for gratification, miracles, gospel love.
I imagine what I lose, growing
quicker, nothing seems innocent—forced to participate, just need essence,
blotted by observation, loving how it moves swiftly.
I imagine what I gained, becoming
distant, analytical, emotion seems structured, chaotic, amazed at what moves us:
sassy retorts, clever rebuttals, bold remarks, sensuous seconds.
I imagine being deeper in rain,
drenched, soaking, without a need of going inside.
I imagine those gestures, why they
appeared? so insignificant, it appeals to me. could be resistant—
could be insurrection—
could lie—
like it meant nothing, it never
hurt, wasn’t concerned—
troubling us, problematizing
cultures, affected, like acting in silence.
nothing is given by—acting out, or
confessing pain, maybe a smile over there, maybe anguish—for it had to live
aside flowers—like daisies in deserts, a cactus with water, a fret in a smile—crooked
with lavish discussion, self-conscious, needing to settle in prayer.
I imagine loving would be ruthless,
forgiveness is inevitable, in a sense, we make indiscretion … another problem,
entering against fate, dungeon bound.
I imagine it hurts, feeling
pictureless, with many confirming invisibility.
