I watch the leave shimmer
in the light and grow
and die and I suppose
that when the earth
gives up
its diadems that this
has a cosmology to it
As when the river rushes
to suicide so quiet
that no sound is breeched
but still
there is rebirth

I swing out
on a natural arc
that returns me
broken brilliantly
like so many copper pennies
I ask you
is this the depth of it
Shall I cast a net
bring back those commended to the deep
or should I sow
the sorrows that I reap
is it better to sew
mouths shut
capturing odd stones
or should we brook
all things in a sputter
based on spark and circumstance

I follow this natural arc
all rainbows have right angles
I return to tidal pools
by eclipsing one eye
then both
each a handful
of water and light
each a dream wing
that means nothing without another

I swing out
and it returns me
fractured
as a pebble busted pond

I swing out
as I do I follow the natural arc
a meter
a time
a space between some joy
or pain
that has a reason to be
more that a gaudy bauble
I hang upon your breasts
a natural arc
I follow to conclusion
do I ask how full
the measure or the season
or do I hurl
into the curve
and does the crowd
sigh
for more.

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