on the nature of things: beneath no earth

let words reach down the throat of dawn
and write the sunrise.

the river dreams of water,
i realize i am incomplete.
...


truly,
as being; in delicate
pose of flower

poser, ivory vase
and circles inlaid
on dead coffee table

i am circled, date
and pen as one
flowing downstream
into stony hands

vascular, noteworthy,
brown eyes floating
and curled into
the plenty--
light arc, rainbow pleasure
drifting, sifting;
water slips through fingers
caught between
river and the air.

i falter then, between
substance,
as ash returned to flame,
time wears on, slowly; memory
aflame.
watch:


subdued,
eyes warn eyes
of death.
floating on a smile now,
free to dream, yellow sweater
dirty hands
and muddy bath
child swims the dream,
no gravity,
no earth beneath the
sky, freedom:

a kiss between each breath.

*
and solitude finds its place
in the thoughts of every star,
i sleep,
i sleep,
and dream my life once more
as pulse returns to pulse
and flowers
are replaced.