Another Way Round

A Thinking Back Nature

 

To where I’ve come now

                       listening

   is plastic      elasticized or

teeming with

    sequences of

 realizing what’s

       missing from the portrait hanging nearest to my open eye:

 

father, grandfathers, grandmothers, etc.--

 

cultivated fathoms grow then

 by Wind’s outrageous hands,

I interpret silence as absence

 into a theory of what need

explains in accidental realizations

​

​

Voice and Reaction

 

   As my mother calls I

 look into a prophecy of when my

     dying will create a syncopated

   voice of diagonal echoes.  Hearing

            her daily a

       blessing looks to expand my

     life in the mirror of my own

          interpretive devotion: my daughter, five,

 a mimesis of my younger physiognomy,

        an unblemished variation of sweet

   thickened time.

  

 

__________

It’s difficult recalling living.

 

Releasing anxiety isn’t a medicated

fathom of identifying vacancy.

 

Permission

to avalanche

isn’t a needed

diagram of

predetermined

aging--

__________

  

 

Sedentary.  With rhythm a

devotion

   to expand     experience     encloses

my radius of

      how my mind

  rotates around what attempts to enclose

 

  amid these hours of timid gradation

​

​

​

Bridges Toward What Devotion Builds

 

Thinking toward what the memory will forget.

 

A language of hope limits fruition to a predetermined heirloom stored within an absent moment.

 

To the way my family holds me.

 

And nothing is discarded--surname, promise, or concealed apprehension.

 

We’ve a devoted momentum, a syncopated rhythm of dealing with prophecy, statistics.

​

​

​

Youth of the Both of Us

                                                      --for Darius

 

Wounds enwrapped in

   what heals in

 subsequent gauze, subsequent

in sequential melody to sing-away

                               what

      holds the body in its warmest,

  automat

 -ic stationary objective.  Said of what

       and how my younger brother / my younger self

involved

    flying into our daily routine:

 

television teeming, teaching

  acrobatic alphabets to respell

meaning of abstract trouble

                          we’d

   flail into.     Wrestling with self with

selves of invented

 magic.  Young then meandering

     into older renditions of language…

                                truth

  in what the tongue launches, layers--

what now we’ve done is to ensure

     Dad will

            become again within the

  oscillating memory our current

       conversations elaborate through

                                  music

​

​

​

To Myself a Momentary Witness Of

 

Of what miracles

     stated amid the jazz of a dragonfly’s blurred al

  pha

         beti

 

cal distance… clarity concise permissive eye-open dualities...

 

pertaining to organic ways our voices roam and cave-hide

 

curtain-reveal

this daylight arithmetic unveils what my body

no longer can provide in the context of

        alive architectural breathing…

 

peace is the presence of prayer, unobstructed dialogical components