ELIMINATE THE DISTANCE
In late summer, step over the frame of sliding windows into the quiet dining room. Evening light permits it. Quit the swarm along the embankment to stand silent as a flush hinge.
Day devours breath. Count three and know it.
What is in your mouth upon waking? A tongue is word and taste. Lemon. Meander. You will speak today.
On each panel of the altarpiece, whose human hand cut leaves, stars, and fishes?
How to see ruins as something someone else has broken or abandoned, though I love the grass between pillars as I love the eucalyptus shedding bark. A courtyard whole, a swell of music, voices raised in prayer.
Turn the creaking hand-crank of a darkened well. Wait for uncertain water.