i blew a hint, a feather passed;
like months, it was stitched.
now, now i look very deep inside the well. i wonder about the many seeds i have thrown to perdition. inside - in daturas, in mentzelias, in ipomoeas - the blooming of my will. they are arcane motes; specks in the dusk, with hearts in the heart of all hearts.
i kept, and i will keep seeing you,
long after the eyelids fall.
pure, but not from concentrated.
light in & light out. an unrelenting strobe, or a scope. toes & the tons they carry. i could be one with the earth, but i am 12 floors above the ground. les voix qui s'élèvent ne sont pas les miennes; elles sont méconnues et pourtant s'harmonisent à la lumière. i am in the midst of it. all the years ago & all the years to come. no noise for this quiet, no quiet for this noise. in my cochlear pool i swim, i travel distances.
for you, to rest.
my chin against my knees.