must
promise to care for roses in pain.
must
cherish like beauty was excellence,
or
muscle means goodness, or derrière
means
greater climactic fury—the fire
at
its chorus, the catalyst was a smaller
aesthetic,
a person, nonetheless, a wolf
gunning,
the city running, each time to
describe
a woman—I lose a woman.
art
is healing. she was dying. I found
her
next to a portico, she was in tears, I
spoke,
fidgeting with magic, it hurts,
it’s
not sacred, unique, but it
feels
different.
we
aborted a child together. we endured
a
miscarriage together. we lied to
Adonai
together.
I saw
a woman. I feel ridiculous. I think
she’s
mature, softer, set to the defense of
her
inheritance—a greater soul, a rocky
gathering,
the berries given testimony.
afore
a firebrick, eating a sandwich, I
bubbled
inside—blue flicker, like red
flame—signs,
fiberglass, pressure, a soul
over
founts, waterfalls splashing, I don’t
know
if I aim to love;
like
kilowatts, like untamed electricity,
like
riding dolphins, 100 x 1000 miles
off
the coast;
like
mourning with purpose; like
shooting
a sunray; like meeting a good
human.
aside
a sakura tree, watching a sakata
bug,
sipping a canteen problem;
years
at our habit, no deeper passion, I
have
never loved.
