Grazing off the Screen
the little things that you sometimes wrote
I came to collect and keep close

So slow, does my lung breath
as a palpitating tremor
shaking
and stirred within
the mind that thinks

"when will it come?"

In expectation
desperation
dire attention
is required
to keep
My tears from crying

this dialectic
meta-dates.
I dictate:
"will I detect"
in rhetoric

"if I shall have expected it to arrive"

In sugar cubes
complete, and on time
as diamond brick streets
to tumble down as ice to melt
down my cheeks into my mouth
they leak


or welled up in pools
or on diving boards
with clay platforms
spongy stone floors

Blowing back and forth the reeds
to feel the river pour
as a wheat mill to turn in torque
to establish the width and paddled
chore to show off as a nimbly plotted
game of over lapping arrows and empty treasure troves;
of the destitute dialogue dominoes.