~*~
In Your Rushes, Your Grass
In your rushes, filters
of noonlight, losing purer color and
taking on contrast
the small tone of movement
you think you seeBefore, your edenic and
only form. An even seam
on surface dirt, intermittent stitching
either side
undersides full as spheresLight forks into grapefruit,
stained-glassed segments
pinked and seeded for
blush and grammar.
All parts with a wordA whim. Your certain
and credulous sigh; options
tighten each object to a self
order to undo it, as in
mammals toward one primate’s
peacock, quetzal, or phoenix. Your matchStones in dissonance
like the ill repair of chimneys
or swimming pools filled with fish.
Your tempered illness.
Your stand in a graph,
sun sliding through its slot, so late in the day, so soon
your child crawls toward you through your grass
~*~
That Curious Slight Movement of (the Body)
Slightly, the baby slipped into the range of arm movement. Cautiously,
the gradual leaning of the child into the self. Courageously, the position
of emotion upon the face. Tangentially, contents of air inhaled making
marks upon the fate. Fortunately, the ability of gravity to make scenes.
Easily, a continuous green course mediates distance. Purposely, the work
of paint on the beloved. Possessively, the downy cat winds around the
leg. Distractedly, two birds separate from one table. Necessarily, eyes
buzz the room for a subject. Quickly, the convention of the void as
access to the true. Silly, the playacting of surety on decision. Opaquely,
interference of forms. Coincidentally, the appearance of things to have
edges. Finally, the performance of imaginary in the well-lit realm of the
fact. Belatedly, forgiveness of fact in light of streetlit fog. Surprisingly,
forgetting the effects of water. Thoughtlessly, automatic swimming, the
flying fringe of the wild rice after.~*~