An argument inside, a mirror with petals, what lurks behind eyes—craving essence, a slight haunt, feeding geese in dreams.
More rain, deserts flooded, mongoose abandoned; a miracle needed, a scar deferred, if altruism would sing.
It comes by a riddle, challenged when seen, no one measures another; it will be difficult, blame human nature, blame, in private, a few spirits.
We esteem concrete roses, to discuss harsher weather, unaware of future mistakes. Leaning into a conundrum, favored they seem, never quite with facts.
If it lives, holds composure, it must be different.
They have concluded for all; this is an error.
Upon a whisper, deep into a ravine, a raven has matured; if it would to its inversion.
An argument inside takes precedence.
We do things to get under each other’s flesh—most remarkable.
I didn’t ask for it. It just came.
II
We might object to one saying we. I’ll focus on that.
With life being empty, filled with preciousness, it’s not enough; to find one, seeming in a groove, seeming topaz, it might curve an inner argument.
We never romanced.
We never thought it.
Displeased another found solace.
Upon a hill, halcyon grass, lakes made beauty, aside an inner sensation.
We thought about it, holding to home.
Higher mountains, absurd beauty.
Understanding never spoken, slights to guts, because one isn’t filling the excitement.
Trees unto celestial gardens, nights studying freedoms.
Jasper soil, muddy sunflowers, upon a gray thought.
It will become what it’s destined to be.
With no one laying claim to responsibility.
