The meadowtails know your shoes
So well
They think your walk a world
But in your absence
The earth is turned
And on its apartment head resides
My walls awaiting your eyes
Greedily as they
Are sick of me and yearn only for you
Your wild lights bring them back
And ever into focus
Alive

Is it wrong
To not want something so easy
As shallow

Is it noble to wait
For something so uncertain
As what you actually want

Knowing isn't having
Just as finding isn't searching
It's just known

What if my tongue
Parched from its boredom
Runs out of ink
Or forgets itself
And the ways of penning graphite scenes
Into the reality of lines to be
?

What if my of
Has come forth only to be
Nothing more than a habitus
Or self reflective mirror
That worships either everything of self
Or of thee
?

What if our cause
Was already free
And found beside a quiet setting
Where the Idaho deer
Meet, paw, and breed their joys
Dispite of inequities
?

What if this
All the snow in heaven fell
And all the heat of hell rose up
And all the steam between were trees
And you were me
And we were these
?

What if is all I ask of me
?

Somedays I sit
And feel strongly that
Pages hear me far better
Than any one person ever has

(And they wonder why I like to sit)