the inevitability of exiting a state of no impact

Man tugs an endless vine and he won’t be able to swallow or dodge
falling walnuts or beetles. Hands from holes in leaves act out against him.

There is soil in grooves in skin, in knuckle creases.

I think I am a leaf but keep stroking
Man’s rib cage and putting letter
on letters until I direct a whole wall to encase me.

If there were teeth, each mouth would be gritted.

My paragraph will pass through, unlike tree nuts,
like the line

between leaves and sun bleeding over by the river.

We sleep through the most fragile courses.

Numb hands bent at the wrist stroke
our shoulders with fingertips, while dew is forming.

While snakes and wasps slow down, our skin unhinges, laughing;

Focus on breezes until
even wind is no longer tangible. Focus on holes in a floor.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s