those nights made humble, gazing or lost in time. to
exist outside of reality, made surreal, in defining the love dying.
most ignore sensation, palming locusts, face buried in
comforters;
like a kite on high, floating on memories, life never
offers enough, satiation is wanting, dazed, glossy eyed,
threshed, winnowed, selling last of the cattle.
the barn is flaming, the farm is in jeopardy.
to exist by dear exhaustion, to adore nothing else, to
have heart & home.
many features, one kiln, walking under rain, seasons
wheezing, with life to extract.
those years—our existence, filming moments, to exert
more energy; those hands, soft odors, our first lemonade.
by sacredity, our vow, if life is this way; to know
for intention, as opposed to strange islands, with action in
souls, gripping hands, leaping finally, arising in
smiles.
