I was once-tadpole: water-breath, tailed, morphing
We scroll pages
as if scanning thickets
Is the blood moon stuffing ballots
into the low firs?
When I came downstairs today
for breakfast, he was playing Lovely Day.
& then I might appear very suspicious
& then who knows
I scroll the void
of what we feed each other
August, wind gust, rain lust, drought,
Heart-shaped leaves and heart-shaped doubt.
Free, I stand beside my freedom.
I am known to all the songs of rain . . .
a blurred lifeline where the eye waits
on love, an idling jet, days landlocked
not inside time’s river
but swaddled really