---

∴

so if love is not to be trusted,
and hate is just cliche,
and arrangements made
are only as good
as arrangements kept,

what,
soul of mine,
are we to do?

⋅

arrangements.

they keep re-arranging
as in them we live,
though we try
and try
not to live
too much,
lest we dangerously disrupt
the necessary balancing of weight –

we are vased flowers
and starved of the wind –

⋅

in a wide world of strangers
to whom i’m just as strange,
is there a comfort
to be had?

is there?

and where?

show me
the vase-less field
to whom i belong,
and whose root cries out
for this displaced stem.

∴

 

---

---

∴

our spirits are troubled like still waters
that ripple under the words on our breath.

take heed the daily loosed utterances
that wash the sturdier stuff of our souls;

that lips like dams might mightily defend
the wealth that sedentary liquid is.

∴

 

 

---

---

∴

with the paint of profession
and the cape of personality,
we can don ourselves
anew
and mask the make
we’re unmistakably made.

the danger of course,
begins
when we believe the reflection
of graffitied geldings
and gilded stallions
is the real thing that we are.

it is a silly parade we march in thusly.

but the good rain comes
now and again –

like tears of laughter
born from our own absurdity –

and washes off these false garments
as though they were made of sugar,
and indeed, they must be.

sticky and hardened,
glossy and attractive,
they easily wilt
with a bit of heat
and a lick of the tongue
that speaks,
finally,
some liquid of truth.

∴

 

---

 

---

∴

the cost of this expedition
is taking its toll
and it was miles ago
that i ran out of crumbs.

have my tracks, too,
been covered in sand
or was i ever there at all?

faintly,
the sense of myself
rides on the wind
and casts itself to the curve of tomorrow,

calling,
crooning,
from ‘round the bend.

is it only an island?

what foolish, fierce energy
to circle back to start
and call the expense
an adventure.

is the acreage of me
so small?

but what i really must know:

is there a home
in the middle of it all?

∴

 

 

---

---

∴

regret is a thing that baffles me.

we say,
“i’m going to regret this…”

and go on
and into it.

 

i don’t have many regrets
but those i have
i knew i’d regret
before even having done them,

or worse,
while in the midst
of their doing.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

the disadvantage of time

may be

that we think we have it
like a bond
that should grow.

it makes sense –

as we’ve certainly invested –

haven’t we?

in time?

 

but it is a slippery stock
whose greatest illusion
is the promise of more

and with every breath,

descends,

and goes on.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

if it were not sorrow
that i held in the place
of love,

what dangerous
things would stand
in stead?

i imagine
they would hold –

like steward assassins –

and bravely earn
some sense of security
after all the unpleasant work
had been done.

 

sorrow maybe safer
after all.

 

∴

---

---

∴

the world went grey today,
and with it so i went.

it would not rain nor shine
and the birds that chirped
did so in curious bursts,
correcting themselves
when they felt the silence
they’d disturbed.

 

so i –

as quietly as i could –

laid mulch
and tore down branches,
clearing the broken things
and making beds
for the things that will grow.

 

new life is coming.

even in this still
and somber
air,

it breathes.

∴

 

 

---

---

∴

i used to study
my grandmother’s hands,
which held strong, thin
and diligent
digits,

each
a capable soldier-spy,
at the ready
and discreet.

i remember being intrigued mostly
by the veins
that bulged
at the surface
and over the boney mechanisms
below her wrists.

i wondered if
the blue channels
had been made larger
because a more significant
amount of blood
coursed through them –

like the heart
was actually trying
to come out
through all the deeds
those hands did –

or if instead,
the length of her days
had simply thinned the skin
to transparency,
and thus made visible
a limitless, yet fragile force.

 

it was probably both.

 

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

what would our houses look like

if the walls within them came

tumbling down?

 

 

i think i might like

to live in

that space.

∴

 

---