more wonderful that can be shared
a paddle around
this great blender sinkhole of time
and as a mussel on a hopping tour
I know those blades their appetite
the iron taste of abandon and of longing
this gift of yearn
what perishes in its drought
the soul an itchy thing
whose tender calves
imminent in every intimacy
yet erode to silt
though I yearn at times for clay
shines of glaze firming mortar
forming control but also abandon
to the world and future
that all is strange and possible
that we are here on earth to ramble
precisely in these turns that I try on