a sunshower burbles —
as it trades hemispheres
with the opposite side
of a street.
laid out bone-dry,
sped into the sheering turn
of a mountainous cloud.
the washed out curve
of a storm’s prophesied
color — left to unbox its monster.
commanding the ogling eyes
of fish schooling town.
their sloughing motions
opening and closing like
purple umbrellas —
prepared for a far off
land too near the refuse
of fading shelter.
the template of promise,
poring over unmanifest
milk and honey.
silence becoming the culmination
of a mass exodus —
a version of itself long
to roam.
until another version of
itself thoroughly destroys it.
all that would be the aghast
ramification of encounter…
disposed of as neatly as what
was, and then is not.
an unrestored space — where
there is not much to tell.
another purple entelechy
that went on as if
varied.
here is a whole…
that does not oversleep
when sounder than sleep.
resurrections are not singular
events — they can not be,
if death is to be revived
as much as exhausted.
which is that whole,
finally yielding no place —
where a storm’s color
may be prophesied.
gone too — purple entelechies…
gone too — The Purple Entelechy.