braving bright seas again
with mirror mirror game
old man, young woman
sepulcher and nursery
the cold spell continues
though slag April
through mantra climbs
times the loops
up over high
tilt slate roofs
across the street
is any place
I have never
quite felt at home
in my own skin
while there
postage stamp
front patch lawns
are bones, ready
for wheel turning
flowers again
seed birds romp
joyously trembling
at this spill
of Spring
just beginning
they are jacks
watching jills
tumble down hills
and what poems
have thrown
in throes
slough roe
after tended row
will you be
wearing me and
what my perspective
is reflecting
current-lee
and wind ward
ed-ly etched
fingers to oar
tracing waters
kissing into
the skin
and meniscus
just below me
wake taste-d
slaked raked baked shaken taken
to one and leaving the others
can you hear scent here
a cling-mist happy
to know poem parlance
happenstance-d per chances taken
to being eloquent
on an elevator to escalator
evaluate-or working wonk
to wink-ed glass house greens
who wants to see my thumbs
put to better use
you had read me before
the entry forms were
filled out satisfactorily
I field unsafe thoughts
carrying them arrayed
wherever I go
my own display
of magnetic-sphere
particulate repulsion-s
and a-ttractions
the tact is
incision sacred
sharp leads
and how soft
I want eyes to be
receiving me
bleeding words
that say maybe
some day I could love
even you, poet...
EJR ©
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