Everything spills out these cupboards, so much of so little.
Desires labeled and retrieved, deafening clicks.
Screens burning with news from the long age of man.
Surfeit, sickly, noisy… still hungry. Still scraping.
Shake off the world-fury -- its claws retract reluctant
To the stronghold of still, I stumble;
mercy meets me on the floorboards.
Here no eloquence but gravity,
no spin but the kind creep of day.
The word breathes silent and winks at me, "okay".
Return the uneven songs,
running past the kitchen door,
up the rough-barked limbs,
blinking with baby eyes at the redwood ceilings.
Return the echoes,
shimmer songs of planet paths,
up the pressureless heights of affection and wisdom,
where you threw the breath of life into us, hard as a baseball to a glove.
And I coughed. And your likeness flew out like spark. Unsteady but unmistakeable.
And the adversary ground his teeth.
Sing again. Word of stars, word of flesh. No one hears but everything changes.
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