harps swing, under our chests.
tomorrow: Previ, a city under the
sea.
to pack beads in my pocket,
beside a linen satchel. and it even
held your name!
Felt a moving tirade and ancient cities,
far from Trevino,
a powerful age, and terrestrial
manifestations of your physical
thoughts.
Naïveté reigns therefore,
and when you explain you are leaving for a
better city, I will let you be.
I cannot hope to wonder beside
honeybees; are your eyes as
distinct as I remember?
Late telegrams assigned to your namesake
sat at my doorstep, but I wondered
how close inhalation is to ------.
Shying from your tessellations, we
visited castles carved into rocks,
and I hope I will be somehow part
of it, in a coming history.
You see, the past is ours to claim,
as the messiah rises through infinity.
Wandering ought to be
accurately renamed 'destitution',
at least exploratory knowledge
found in petit sea anemones and
other such ideal lifeforms are existent.
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