orpheus after

after the night



drowns, it opens 



the forest, pale green forest, ajar



and watered by the blooming.



 



if I try, I can always reconstruct



the things that are most 



important. today, home 



is this measure 



 



of ground. thrown shutter 



of branches strewn 



into cover, each color breaking 



the seams, tensed



 



in their dew and refracted as 



a parched red in brown shadowed 



and swallowed by 



a canopy roof seen



 



from below. the trees empty themselves



to the ground, 



their figures rotting 



as winnowed outlines rent



 



in all direction. the same image



that reaches into my lungs and 



takes. pulling away



my inside. pulling the fear that I



 



had missed the coming



until I had already arrived. a feeling 



as small and as bare as



the process of a home. 



 



I am aware 



of all of this. I 



am accepting. it,



coming lightened by



 



its own absence, in the morning, 



when all other morning things are still



undisturbed. the quiet



fastening of self-



 



poverty. as the dew formed overnight



in the folds of a palm fall and 



will split, bearing away the progress



overhung. so yes.



 



please, yes. for this, 



tomorrow and 



tomorrow, I will continue 



to walk for as long



 



as the edges 



can bear to hold.