Let me see
if I can understand you as part of the architecture
though it is the architecture of the place
that keeps killing me, dream of sky that stays
perfect blue foam, dream unfurling
gone and fusing like a hand that has fallen
into place.
You are at the pond
and the beach and over the want ads
and then I have the quieter
impulse to paint
beneath envy's carriage
along eternity's mill.
Earth kicking me up in the form of the human,
and taking the meaning
and giving back the meaning
as the photographs do with the life.
Before rheumy eyes
before young strapping eyes.
A mystery you didn't step over
the white painted hot dog stand
dwarf autumn marigold
a gold chain to look, and look away.
To looky here lies your
empty leg, your empty leg of even gin I would give you
for just the hint of I
I essence
I nuance up the flue.
For the rheumy eyes
For the young strapping eyes.
And begin bicycling a side road in the gaping jaws of
sweet anthem that plays
but follows like murder like entropy like lassitude,
a shade, and then a plain, and then a majesty.
Abandoned on the shore
a red towel,
oh my automaton odalisque.
The sun and the wind and the resultant white cloud
then the car gone off in yellow traffic like a "so there"
might we have in conversation,
as in who am I to write this, who
Who who is speaking most whoever-ly,
Who, you are pale
though always
you are social.
As ever, it is water from a spring
to walk with you
