two decades lay behind,
ahead, unnumbered days
hover in the mists of the unknown
suspended in shroud of pall and potential
But i will not dwell in the mists,
where centers are known to tip and lose
themselves
and no thing is distinguishable from no-thing

I will dwell instead
in the dark soil of the here,
which after settling and settling
is ploughed through, upturned
and peeled apart by the urgency of now
my flesh the earth body
that uproots and breaks open
and breaks, and breaks, and breaks

comfort is misunderstood
stagnant dark is black as death
the plough must come
to whisk light into this soil
even as i break
and break and break and break
I feel the sun pour through my cracks
and flood these raw sifted valleys