Becoming a room,
becoming a hallway,
becoming the scope beyond a door,
widening into sky.

Our breath, every moment,
like water in every direction,
and then space.

"don't follow me."
and she walked solemn from the field
to the forest
tree by tree deeper

I stood still a long time
longer still as she receded
and in my mind I saw her go
again and again
meadow all about my ankles
the wind
brushing my thighs with
the seed-tops of wild grasses
so dead yellow
so slightly green in the recent spring

Above the sky
stars in every direction
saw the whole thing
and said nothing

She and I were not to meet again.

I built my home there from
fallen branches at the meadow-edge,
and though I never knew the deep lush of those woods
my life in some way followed her
thru the tree shadows
and even now
is resting on her shoulder
as she sits by a
sylvan pool
quiet
while I thru
cloud patterns
witness deep space

the crickets singing

all of us
details in sequence
no particular part of a pattern
liquid
given in
to each syrup-sticky motion
emotion making a reach
hand no longer fist
and fallen into dust