The stars deliver the news of night's
and ice, intent to trap,
weeping, swiftly throws herself upon the creek. A murderous plot, killing ripples.
It hurts. I tried
you but you veered - a tangent
maneuver, or so I thought.
The part may have been mine. In this face,
I'm thinking of the curve of
you against me again. The way
you might write an account
this way of warmth. I don't want to
retrace the line, return to point. Just in this aftercourse,
make love in collision and thwart
the truth of these moments. Trust less an issue, anymore
Surround me with sadness-it's more real. Eye me into flesh. Strewn
me,throw off grief. It's human. Scour later.
A flame to heat, get drunk from, brood beneath.
My tears are useless here. The pop of a secret knowing soul sky
emits the rumor of rain and before you see it,
torrents melt the cover and I'll float.
The Sunday Whirl