something that is and might become more.
a wingnut tightening the already taut unlessoned unlistening
bright as a jaydaw’s eye in sun, hunch of spine might kink that way
caw call out, a sharpness raps, what, not clouds, azure brittle
density of lead crystal. off-note chime will do as a focus.
exhale the air held too long, piano key the fingers unblue,
forgot that moving will not happen without my will. shoulders
gyrate alone in a room, topsy world, elbows center of gravity
hobbles almost topples the two dreidels at each tabletop of my sides
in ball joint that fallen rolling bowl sound, nothing broken,
just check for hairline fractures, most too small, only future sees them.
kiss the tectonic wonder that may open in heat, the gestures
lift like sections of nectarines into part where there was whole
make yourself into a homemade bow of green wood pulled into tension
no arrow to hand so knife-saw string, spring back straight from weapon to graft.
open window to wait for the freshness of my blossom
poke me in a tree and I’ll bear fruit while you are busy becoming
quickly miter me to fill with someone else’s sap
rising through my low pressured cells before they flake inert.
shrapnel deciduous caked in ice springs back, anchor of trunk, drunk
take this water, we toast each other with a cutting from the sea, take it,
up into the thirsty sapwood that has no tongue to reach with.
volleys are a tiny scale now, cell to cell, ciphers siphon
writing on the forest face is: pax, root in place
xylem has no interest in conflict conflab, harps, violins and violence
zithers wither, a waste of thrumming living wood that is and is.