a pure bird sings out in the hedge,
as i sing up a storm
out in the street.
wanderin', as
usual*.

to fold nicely into
next-moments, to heed
and stifle breath subtly
lit up, glow
on the belly of the
sky mild-cloudy afternoon
we sit and spin our threads.
find small spiders on the sheets,
crawling toward the sun, first,
as we all should've been.

bent n frayed back, all of
this clambering, and all of
the world, and its futures
laid out on 'til
projective infinities,
sometimes halt breath
but
there's plenty o' time,
vast oceans, lightyears
spilling out of the woodwork,
marbles downgutter,
glistening victory &
everything else.

yr light, sweet shine,
sweet universe, blurred
n all glory, as usual,
rains on in
soft patterns.