…those
purple cries, raked for perception, palming grassy sand: listening to bat
wings, trekking through crowded caves, to stumble upon a crane fly or glassy
skies, or a hundred beats a minute, or a hummingbirds manic lifestyle…this
green/brown gator swamp, this existential texture, or that electrifying caiman:
our sparrow-hawks, our compelling faces, or our aesthetic snakes: this outdoor
museum, this neighboring marketplace, those peregrine falcons: our shots at
romance, those meter long wings, those leaping caracal magicians: this man to
stars, this Beetle Juice affliction,
this sketchy individual: our odd responses, our casual nonchalance, or our
failed attempts to induce realities: our albatross hearts, our birds eating
birds, or this kleptic arc-glance: those trembling notes, this comfort as in
seconds, or this sky theft…. I caught
passion, so young and stunted, while fleeing those tugging ropes: sheer
exhaustion; this house of leakage; or those dreams for one that couldn’t leave:
this lifelong motivation, this song knitted to symbols, this tale by thoughts
held hostage: these mental-go-rounds, this conscientious rearview, our blinkers
for that length of time: such crowded pavement, our nameless humanity, those
individual specimens: this slant as science, this belly of butterflies, or that
heart of ladybugs: our souls a major concern, this philosophic discussion, this
endless speculation—while closer with experience, to sense such motion, while
communicating internally: those cape-gannet insights, or this raven’s
intuition, where souls participate in sky-cloud displays: our minds reaching
lakes, our outpour reaching clarity, or such as clocks aligned at
applause.
…it’s
been years at vests, or days at chase, a warrior’s gutty hunches: to find with
time, this agitating self-interest, or edginess seeming to have outlived its
domain: while serenading winds, or winged for wheels, this tiger moth, this
foret fly: those dreams we shared, those pictures we painted, or this king-bird
we admired: our days as lovers, our hearts while panting, our ponds filled with
geese: as fire pilots, or fighter ants, or fishing bats: this caving sensation,
this wall of ornaments, while bogged intensely by responsibilities: our acacia
sunrise, our walnut trails, or our chipmunk musings: this patient courtship, as
gives those airs, while sullen our seconds to concerns: this scribbled house,
this scribbled face, those wiggly lines signifying grass: our inheritance, as
mother would scribble, even an entire page….
