this is not the blue sun’s howl

Love, no this is not the blue sun’s howl      I seek a friend as one strives for another morning’s blunt crawl: why blunt? because the swing of memory has been singed with burn, taut with taciturn immeasurabilia –

love, no this is not what mattered when bridges were burnt in its name      tomorrow’s mirth in my mouth and I stall – the taste of morrow has me gasping for a shallow vowel that hastens to speak the unsyllable –

love, no-thing permits it to see; no-one tries it on more than once      look, the feathers have eaten their fill of flight & sink – O, when the wiseman shook doubt, my tree fell, this plank of some horizon that tells me no lie –

love, the leak on your boat is twice the size of my universe      this bell whose mother stuck her face in the moon’s dark, this bark of happening, trusting that all in the forest will churn –