somewhere i have never traveled –
is a forgery of facts
somewhere i am always growing –
and where are you now, and where are you then?
some day may 6 will be a sitting chest of drawers – someday something fervent and replete will greet you – a dove, a perch, a set of pomegranates draped across a lens
What am I supposed to do with this heart that is a mass of messes?
rough and tumble – riptide and rumble, hear me little rain – pour me out again. the spring is come, the spring is come. the rain is washing us, washing us. let me be a hard hunger for words again.