Luck brought me to a place of despair,
A kneeling block for the lungs,
And onto the nape of my atavism, luck dropped
this lustrous bright gold blade,
and opened a dull heaven of untold rain.

I kneel quietly.
I listen hard, and with clouds in my intent
I come back to my breathing
forest body. My breathing animal.
My pet heart. My just this breath.

Luck is stricter than I am,
more of an Empress. But I notice everything.
The curve of a bowl. A leaf. The drift
of my boat. The rain. The way we boast on facebook.
The way I grieve, when you go.
Quietly, with all tenderness,
each moment crystal under exquisite pressure.

I only mean to express what I mean to express.
I love pure words, but their drops in the silence
raise the mud from the bottom. I kneel in the mud,
I watch for the signs of rain, get herbs.
I kneel in the sun, under the blades of the trees.

After my execution is over, I sit quietly for a while.
Over the whaleback truths of the world the clouds are coming.
The rain is humming.


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