Some part just wants to move
like powder, and go where no
other’s prying punctures
a private instinct of whispering
when sounding out the names.
Dangling dusk colluding
with green. The reduction of
complexity forms a clearer
understanding, as an after smell
of rain wrung out hovers above
the heart. Eyes cut lines to meet
a shaded light of longing. Some
leave weak kneed but with much
sharper senses, and randomly
stop strangers to find one who’s
lost. We must be waiting on
something: an animal in us, cold
shadow curling inside for warmth.
The blocks of not tumble; turn over,
and over again. And that hushed
glowing malaise slowly burning
dry days’, remains half buried but
sensuous. As if each spark will be-
come whatever it can with a chance.