Funny how distance, literally the expanse of space,
rewrites
Across thick tufts of forested pine –
over rolling clover hills – down roiling rivers –
piercing the crop circles –
into the scaling weathered crags
Signs of settlement, revising staid provisions
Forlorn entrenchment,
sewn within the seeds of static form forgiveness,
envisioned through hues well-played and pleasing
Quiet deference into
the libelous architecture of this moment
Gestures incremental, still as they are in sync
Telegraphed,
written as instruction, red ink on crusting skin
crinkled and retreating, across a range of secular motion
Eyes opened, into an emergent dissent, despondent,
‘cross oft-severed planes
Yet the distance, pulling as a rope from atop the well,
arrested,
reeling in begotten ages, or clinched conviction
Clichéd, ill-spoken half-truths, arrangements of discomfort,
gleaned from an array of like-moments,
scattered about the calendar
A knowing glance, submission or acknowledgement
Life in arrears,
Repaid through the subtext of ransom or engagement,
reminded by the simple pilgrimage across
the vagaries of one lying in wait, the weight
hunkering down with a darkening presence
MM 1/17
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