That someday we will want to know
Behind the word ardors.
Projections seriously arrived at.
A flourish of flowers against imagination’s
Pavement. The snow fell in buckets which
Made light. It seemed strange we were
Always in awe.
What may ruffle the tags
Gleam across the mountain.
The river flows back.
The cat changes its position.
Who we are is closer now.
And lacks blame.
And happens to be right.
Especially in the record of the evening.
Surely we will have to arrange the table
And ask for music to follow.
And then loosen our ties a little,
The kayak collection is open for research.
A large in parentheses often colored wing
Whispers against the window.
Only a bowl of oatmeal lies
Between ourselves and the purple mist
Seeing it again, it is darker.
It is coming out against the stars.
