a sunshower burbles —

as it trades hemispheres

with the opposite side

of a street.

laid out bone-dry,

sped into the sheering turn

of a mountainous cloud.

the washed out curve

of a storm’s prophesied

color — left to unbox its monster.

commanding the ogling eyes

of fish schooling town.

their sloughing motions

opening and closing like

purple umbrellas —

prepared for a far off

land too near the refuse

of fading shelter.

the template of promise,

poring over unmanifest

milk and honey.

silence becoming the culmination

of a mass exodus —

a version of itself long

to roam.

until another version of

itself thoroughly destroys it.

all that would be the aghast

ramification of encounter…

disposed of as neatly as what

was, and then is not.

an unrestored space — where

there is not much to tell.

another purple entelechy

that went on as if

varied.

here is a whole…

that does not oversleep

when sounder than sleep.

resurrections are not singular

events — they can not be,

if death is to be revived

as much as exhausted.

which is that whole,

finally yielding no place —

where a storm’s color

may be prophesied.

gone too — purple entelechies…

gone too — The Purple Entelechy.