This moment is liquid, breached with spring peepers,
It is sandalwood smoke lifting prayers to Lakshmi,
Lifting standard bearers, it ups the ante.

It is a cool breeze up a cervical column, shivering 
in Morse code, a genetic ladder to the roof,
to Jupiter to a far black hole in one.

Nebulas yawn a kaleidoscopic Neverland promenade,
and gravity waves sing their arias of emptiness
and full again, in nano-rhyme, in tiny grand statements.

This moment is rich in grandchildren and great grandchildren,
grows thin with constant attention, runs curious as coyote,
moans in silken orgasm. This moment is ready as 4 o'clock.

It swirls perdition within paradise, it bobs on Adriatic waves,
swells with orphans adrift, threatens to wash us away.
It uncurls sad lingering memory, clings to vital shadow kin.

This moment is mitosis: gold to lead, sunflowers to chickadees, you to me.
It has folded the day into 366 paper cranes, each head upturned.
This moment is ululation, rooster crowing, white sheets on wind.

It is quicksilver, rolling about in the palm of our hand. Heavy,
we want to unpack it.  Like Grendel, it would swallow us whole.
It is courier, prayer bead, moonlight on the Pacific.

This moment wears a chrysalis, maybe chrome, maybe feather. 


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