when we met, in which direction, blasted &
terrified, holding character.
rising in a singsong voice, abandoned to fantasy, give
a soul his purpose.
never as it could upon an island; never as winds
crocheted in silk, those clouds knitting.
music grieving him, it was gorgeous, keys &
symbols, stars & dropping.
to make a soul feel, to assert justice, to need
breaths, accursed for seeking.
i couldn’t, with fretting emotion, sitting at a bench,
looking as a foolish bird—so hungry, by width of his days;
travail unto exhaustion, mesmerized & cautious, to
presume, it meant rain, it ached to an inner tear, rending spirit asunder. indeed,
we don’t move elements, accustomed to heights, no jest—i’d sin to ear it.
pulling from a curb, looking in my rearview, to imagine
it coming;
stabbing gently, moving at a pace, floating, feeling
like he’s driving.
when we met, i’d peruse aesthetics, style of graces,
deeper thoughts; to see a portion, always defensive, protecting self, many came
to ruin goodness. (things we say inside, if true or false, they help to
perpetuate life.)
at a sign in those waves, never with accuracy,
requires more of a sun-mind;
with many it was half of nothing, more of winnings,
everything on a five.
upon jasper blues, unto sunshine, found in memories—those
jasmine lenses, a purple heart, those organic flickers—
