i sit at the peak of the wounded
skies, wilderness and meadows.
at times a soul swims. at times a
soul sings. and at times, a soul finds itself full.
the snapdragon is resting, a
foreign person in self, such rain upon lilacs.
by legacy of the giant, tiles
chipped, realities often seem hermetic.
a play we channel. gates and walls
we unknit. marigolds and graves.
somber algae. sullen fungi. subtle
communication.
crickets. grasshoppers. souls
imprinted.
dreams by meaning, visions, more
prints and diamonds.
the motive has life. the vest has
suffered. the perception is souls are dying.
so much force in those smiles. so
different. it’s amazing what a few will experience—as it’s hidden from others.
born to suffer—born to recover from
the suffering.
a most wretched assertion, mirrored
reality, the great maelstrom.
hesitant. weaving faiths.
unattached outcomes—they seem unnatural.
the place of great stress—eyes
appear in clarity—we seem to review each other.
i see a camerawoman; i see
interrogation; i witness confusion of facts, expertise, music and lenses.
