1670

1669

1668

1667

1666

1665
At variance with simplicity
Is the simplest thing:
To open eyes
Having seen before;
Having felt,
To doubt the equivocation of coolness.
The morning bird song's
A feather's-breadth from chaos,
And death a sister who will speak
In the surface calm a summons.

1664

1663

1662
Toboggan down my redshift,
You lightspeed, you relativity;
I want to ride on your back
And hold horizons in each hand.
We could comove
At a proper distance,
Letting constants smooth
This manifold.
We may agree on an absurdity,
Or digress in a divergency,
Content we all anomalous
In a topology of sense.

1661

1660

1659

1658

1657
What is a sparrow's
Wing span of hours?
Did she mind the stir
Of cicadas stealing silence?
She'd light at my foot
With sure embassy:
I know you, sir,
Angling a small reacquainting eye:
Family's hungry.
I haven't seen her it's been days,
Days gone by.

1656

1655

1654

1653

1652

1651

1650

1649
It is a vacancy in one
That makes category destiny,
But smallness is all,
And fate a toy of hubris and fear.
For instant outweighs age,
Measure, faith,
Phenomenal, noumenal.

1648

1647

1646

1645

1644

1643
Skate folded wing
By feather bend
Gravity's rail
That bounds the earth to every partner
Past woven scale.
Move to live
Is law unteneted,
And your flight
Small fellow is your breath
But my beauty.

1642

1641

1640

1639

1638