eyes
have been unusual—
the
anguish bubbles—
butterflies
are sunk low,
beauty
seems ubiquitous.
nautic
winds plunge me—
into
fibers of
disheartened
echoes,
framed
by
tantric earth—
forgotten,
lost children,
melancholy,
as felt in
scientists.
to
negotiate with a knife—
to
refute something in Jesus—
most
never fathom nuns,
bishops,
religious survival.
such
dear fright,
a
flight in soil,
a
pain to utter, “I remorse you.”
unpacked
inside, tearing
inside—
reestablished,
so swell,
tearing
up over strangers.
so
written off, they never
investigated—the
aphorisms,
the
darkness, a glimmer
of
light, the last candle.
if
to touch one glint, one
prism,
some pond, upon
clouds—
entering
foreign feelings, a
weeping
in gardens, pine
woodsmoke,
the pain we give,
to
ask, one grief—
the
terror of surrendering.
