two dew
—-
in the fertile
stretches of the
imagination
i envision
a watered
gather, two
fluent spheres
hanging there
nurtured by
the rainstorms
of the mind,
spirit congealed,
in cold mineral
liquid, tinged
in bark, lichen
spilled from
the old ones
that line that
shore, an even
in that silence
that cold stony
and shell frocked
edge, the water
whirls and twirls
turning, spinning
unto itself, then
the other, until
finally — in the
frosted nightfall
they be come
one, and drop
to the sea of
their knowing.
—-
T | queen anne hill