Maybe this is the year

I learn to listen

To the stirring under waters


Stars in passing

The insects nestling

In the dry tangle of summer

Some of them we burn

On cold nights

Fully alive

When the leaves

Crumble to ash in your hand

Scatter over the water


This is not time for waiting

For sufficiencies to come

Accession or revelation

Passion plays promising

Some perfect framing

When all this time

The painting was only light


The story just choices

Holding it all in open hands

Even each other

The water glass

Over secret currents

On a journey to the ocean

No less real for being unseen

Carrying all the pieces

That could not be burned

Not dead

A still life

Of constantly moving atoms

Endlessly exploding stars