it
isn’t a man’s plan to utter rain nor sadness nor glee nor cheer; the resolution
is private, many will intuit a difference, over a cold beer.
so
many nonsensical mistakes
—floating
into time
—many
spatial webs.
many
are expressing despair, joy, a new zeal for happiness. most astute souls,
fighting acute illnesses, forming zest, occupying fire, palming futures.
absorbing
energies is twofold
either
resounding love, or resounding pain. a word is missing, often, deliberately,
musing on one filled with mischief: too wise for many, too warm for others, too
close to skies.
such
soothing distance, left to imagination, in reading her work, in seeing
reflection, that year disappeared as it appeared—filled with presence, filled
with mystery.
knowing
her was like disliking her, which was like one seeping into clarity—or knowing with
empathy—dragging souls across pavement.
in
midst of composing, eager to do it right, sweet wrongness, many years; to read
into a soul, to learn how to feel, inescapable emotion.
many
years of silence, the tacit sun, the gelid moon—an increase in yeast, more fire
battles, an interior fury.
