Belonging wears no feathers

up early —

from everywhere,

grief;

a bright stain on the vision,

a frenzy for touch

pulsing out of stare of sun.

 

a swarm of laggard days

is sleeping now,

shimmering there.

all us shadows

(tottering, lost)

will come to find it.

 

Our Own

with our own hands

poetry

mirror

 

out of darkness

mouths

knew too much

 

live like this:

early

astronomers

 

like flame

then always

like flame

 

this manner is dance

unbridled

beyond artifice

 

flooded in sun

in a room

half-

 

familiar

recognize grief

as lost