Most often it’s
aphorism—the rain, soothing weather, or too cold to speak; biblic sacrifice,
tender welkin anguish, adjectives astray, pain like a blessing; without you I wouldn’t
fly, with you I have presence, so religious the woes we chance; find me
entertaining, gathered with berries, sipping and playing grownups; the way we
dance, the song we waltz, so many becoming ballerinas … softer carpets, fields
of woods, cypress beginnings, and cottonwood shacks; before our time, the sun
made glorious, and sound was amazing: putting words to items, discovering
intonation, compared to a soul in romance. Character and charisma, the sky
would fall, if ever a delicate slip—by survival of the castle, by claim of
those clouds, so cirrus, so amethyst, so tender violet; floating away, nothing
quite matters, aside for that feeling. And each outfit is purity, music made mellifluous,
each thread count testifying to patience.
