l i n g e r i n g
from the lips
a kiss

is
our
cliff

I'm a hollow tree this night.
Defiant to the moon.
Bare.

Where is Spring in me?
Where the heart of these woods?

misconstrued space
linear object-naivety
exudes this place
high-rise freeway three-dimensional waste

A man in the corner whistles a melody long forgotten, except by him

People walk by and continue their day without paying him any mind

Yet still he whistles

He whistles a tune that sounds so familiar that if I told you the name you would sigh relief

Ask him for the name next time you should meet

He'll be the one on the corner.

Whistling his solemn soliloquy

the big old quiet of the electric house is somewhere around me humming incessantly with a heater .   a cat is which becomes smoothness neatly into
my lap folding upon whisker self of darting blackness the night outside
which compares with complains with rain through wind and trees my
window against and there is between it all the tiny miracle of a chime


                slowly    .

breathless lingers
untwines
this tangle