Thursday, March 25, 2021


Even if the connection 
is never completed
there in the right-sized room 
of your head,

there may still be moments
when mind and matter 
issue a ceasefire and 
speak to each other.

There, in that most exquisite 
of glooms, all the grubby shards 
of you shimmer 

with a singular rawness which 
knits them together 
as if undefined
by relationships or time,

and are weightless, 
yet so terribly durable 
you find yourself losing all freedom
to refuse.

And the high-speed net effect 
of a truth so dazzling
is a lessening so deft 

that you soon start to long for 
the luscious redemptive 
dark of your erstwhile confusion.