Our
eyes miss us when we taste all over again
Every
time we feel our sound our breath our
Mind
embodied in voices here between us
We
imagine that we’ve counted every stone
On this beach each one smooth as those we
Poised in childhood for the perfect pitch across
The quietest lake to make ten maybe fifteen
Skims O the looping algorithms of our hearts
Oi! How can we ask our subtle questions and
Still part the green lips of these trees without
Wickedness
or gentle branches torn from whom?
Now the leaves fall ecstatic and unreadable
Over what story we can’t yet see what we write
Untiringly these words in our hands in our eyes
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