paint or pollen

don't move an inch

listen for a singing

hitting in your bones like they were forks

if you hear what i hear

don't just sit there. we are only strumming water

on this most unlikely chord. you got blown shore to shore

not quite sailing

riding on the trade-winds of age. things blow in

don't just cast them

you say it now

what you want to stay

i was once on a long boat

star mapping the night roots

lightening the load

just in case

things float in to be taken. if you don't know by now

what will stay?

so don't move an inch. don't move a single second

until the shade behind your thoughts is not confused. 'cause i felt your itch. i know the scent as well as any

clotting your garden

of paint or pollen

brick in your mortar

petals to soak in

on the cracks

thicker or finer

milk in your water

black in your primer

wood in your brush

now i am your cloth

whatever you want-

the best is upon us. its a finicky muse

with only potential

to choose.