and there it is again;

An inward crouch:—

& in keeping still in that moment

where the liquid turns solid as stone

faces, and leaps away like a cougar from a pouch.

I’m referring to my thoughts, yours—the enrollment

that signs its name deeper than bone;

­

fingering through the chunky marrow matrix

of mind where the lights don’t breach,

like insects in their deep holes, stirring.

I am each bedding bug within these holes.  But I am also the malleable clay mix

that erects reality from dream, assembles breath into speech,

and gives pressure its plaque: I call it whirring,

­

or rather, worrying, excuse me.  And when I scramble

into a sprint—far & away—my feet inside their hollow houses do not question

the highest court’s dealing of its divvied devices,

when territory has been evaluated.  “I am respondence, I amble;

my rubber rolls with no suggestion;

no matter what the price is

­

I carry the weight of every displacing gesture.”

They are ready like a soldier’s gun,

and I am here as the readied pen continuing a message

from reference to future.  I got my day and I undressed her.

She was beautiful, animate, and dark against the sun.

And I was her vestige.