Axis // axiom.
Ask me, and I’ll stand in the joint, gnarls of old trees wrapping round my arms.
And here we are: in the hinge.
The middle part that’s truest. Dark wood, dark wood.
Candles all around us, of course, and some trees.
The hinge between lament and what… ? I can hardly hope for more.
Turn of song as cormorants beat against the bay, on wing.
Were they wings or trees I was lost amidst?
No–dark blood, dark blood.
Years that fell into the spine, the center roaming.
Time’s on a break as days overgrow.
The little routines that made us feel safe.
While all along, celestial math crumbles in two.
Adam // atom.
The tree outside my window tiptoeing up to bloom, bud’s edge teasing.
And life flowing endlessly from its arms.
Point by which we know.
To cross over.