pull and tease
the hackberry branches,
heedless as birthday
toddlers ripping
clean through tissue paper—
discrediting so-called
eyewitness accounts
of consciousness
existing
at the center,
and not just
as a dashed-off
insouciant flourish
ringed around
everything's fringes.
*
Where there's a will,
there's a way—but
is the converse
also true?
Does a "thing to do"
preordain a doer?
Could the heart persist
outside of its armor?
For that matter,
could "outside"
exist—even a little—
if it didn't surround
that wound
called "the middle?"
