in the countless urns on your shelves
in the intricate mesh of your garden ribs
though I’m always eluded by the flying leaf
torn from the bough where a dove sits never noticing me.
Even outside the airplane window
clouds fleece the language of muscle
masses of water holding sway on a zillion cells
softly deciding the fate of bone.
On a staircase of stygian gloom
steps race ahead evoke the light metal of continuity,
hues of arms and hips.
How do I explain involution— hairs rising
like arduous flashbacks those first knots
staring at us eternally like nests of foreboding angels
tasked to watch over our ceaseless
scowling sprinkled with occasional grins.
I find questions answer questions best.
Promise of quest renders the period
a passable lull, each word spoken a necessary
speedbreaker for the irrationality of beauty.
Here hesitate shiver then dance
anthem into stem.
Touch the lotus on your head free from endings
a million roots in mud singing to the sun
manifesting in tunes of your blooming moan.
The result— a huddle of hills
conifer-ing mist squinting tornado licking lips
waiting to wreck us into one.
Here, we’re pallbearers of parading time
waiting for a turn of phrase like resting hounds
to unhook our satiny sails
to lay bare the stir of pocked constellations
our birth marks evolved into.
Read more from Eco Folio or share on Facebook and Twitter.