Born
inside, flickering into flame, negotiating with dreams. Numen departure,
soaring into silence, reduced to mere basics. The face in its mirror, the
scream as is shadows, taking to heart those finding joys; so far across the
highway, superseding expectations, regathering particles of pride. I may never
see the final exposé, misunderstood, looking intently—filled with misuse,
trying to fathom—the ink in its deliverance. Living it out the flurry in its
shifts, roads to shelters, life giving back our presumptions. Stepping into an armoire, redressed at each
churn, trying to fix a perfect outfit; much an earthquake, sorting through
firebrand, attempting to locate diamonds—more sin, more fears, wondering how
time became popular. In these few years, caiman genetics, needing closure …
brighter lights, feelings in cloves, to watch and bring it to life—such a
soul—claiming a pardon. Quilted beliefs, etched in spaces, knitting The Great
Distance.
