what we wish –

angry young kids eyeing the doorknob – is it here we reinvent ourselves only to find

we’ve always been this way, always have structured our Glances severely

in Order to find mute reasons for remaining Still, our Silence not taken for Granted

but held forth as some kind of Justice?

(It is not what we meant to do when we straddled the lines to come across as

more Vulnerable than we actually Were) –, these children

who gainsay your altitude to arrive en masse seem oblivious of their poverty, they

who would dance all night as if on fire holding hands and waving their arms

at the long tall trees bending through their graceful minuets, these

girls and boys searching out what hidden meanings await them in the dark, shadows

that undergo timed explosions of color and light, this vivid reimagining

of Youth for us a Necessity, a romance of pure thought

and sudden-held Emotion – Where will we Stand, unbowed

by the Wind, our happenstance no Contrivance but a worked

idea ground to dirt in our coarse hands

and held out for

more than we’ve been given? – Schisms

urged to Unity, edging

out beyond the Earth to float freely in the Air; our

hedged-in geometry of Desire

Obscured by Mists; the milk of some

Mother’s enchantment; We

hold Ourselves in Awe as if Witness to some

great Tragedy – Our purpling bruises

the Remnant of a Vicious beheading of Ideas; – Can

we halt our Minds, instill in Ourselves a quiet Calm while

the deer Spring startled in quick ballads

across the Lawn?

Instep is inscape, She thought, the

inner Profile of

Plenitude and Discovery – She the Victim

of hurricane Winds holding

Still in her breast, this heritage; the

Overture

of an unkempt Symphony – Why

do we Wind across the Page in leaps and bounds only

to be Silenced by Solitude – It is here, preoccupied, We are alone

but hardly aware of our Loneliness – Sparrows

flit in threes and fours beneath

our impoverished Skies to arrive, Innocent, at

the branch; We

wait below, counting the hours of Our indecision, our

halfhearted thrust at

irony

Or inception – We laugh away the heady Sorrows

which tie us ankle-to-wrist, front-

to-back here

to attain a yawning birth in Spring’s incision –

*