stolen wet glimpse
stoned as quiver his
readied, rendered
berried, aim, lips
hinting touch sequence
berried, aim, lips
fasten sinking blips
such small turbulence
took his glimpse
whirling glimpse
sole expense
the way the front of my memory
and the back of my realization
kiss
is wet,
like a slow jelly
and ripples with no break
in its gloss
and color
there is more
friendly and vibrant
as sound and time slow to
a stroll, a coo-ing
a silence
Takemitsu searched
for the sound worthy
to confront silence
and I think it might be
a baby's cry,
though I have never
heard avalanches,
have I?
And I wonder where,
in this pleasant wetness,
permeates the well
of sorrow and grief and
longing and
have we wanted a what to want
or a some special thing?
washing
whisper
cries
carolling
calm
weight
humm a-ways aloft
awake.
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