over your head
you can keep ten cloaks
hide behind enough distance
so that everything might be
half life and half made up
in your mind–
but I want to witness supple miracles
tucked in reality’s silk slip, it’s splendid
tales so unbelievable
they shakes reality’s vines to offer
the juiciest of grapes
I honor all creases, all bruises
all howling nights if it means
I can see the day breaking
so bright and clear over the my life’s
horizon