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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