to become
melted.
just as a marshland
is an industrial
boom of
homeward bound silks around our wrists,
so exists self-addressed envelopes
with no return addresses
constellations are overlapping,
causing brilliant images to appear-
however, our eyes are closed and we could not notice:
the seams between the stars,
discarded inks,
clay jars.
(at seven, i was a decadent soldier)
i made tea: a stable, a harness, a beating of bones, featherbeds, promise rings, sunday mornings, walking downtown, a pile knit- i am late
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