....this life of yours which you are living is not merely a piece of the entire existence, but is, in a certain sense, the whole; only this whole is not so constituted that it can be surveyed in one single glance.
-E. Schrodinger
oh,
dark seer of folding tongues
how i laid under
the cross hatched gist of touching lids
there, there mockery for a joint
gone blue into tempest
having found the last notes
of this bleak dawning
no one knows what you are
each morning, how you learn
about love from a leaning in
to say what will you temper
flow rapid like water to the lowest
licking point, put yourself into every
part of me until my body pulls tight
& rode down the bucking heat
i forget where one of us ends
& the other begins & it is no matter
as words have edges that people do not
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