far away seems so close in your eyes
and you push your blood away to
feed the wind or some whispers
unimaginable to the full
my torrid eyes see the sky full of scars
sometimes when
the moon is full of boom
all I feel is you

tiers of light splash down

suns thru one well.

the mouths of flowers

coloring the gypsy pipes

of birds.

images leaving where they

left off--to be three of a kind.

the most silent-speak striking

up sound.

think the butterfly-lungs of

a collapsed sky.

the turn, or curve of resurrection--

recalled by it's circle's circle.

in the dead of round.

a black & white wreath set

speedily to color--on a chosen

head.