LOSS IS RELATIVE/THE RAIN ARRIVES
Homeric rosy fingered dawn draws her curtain to departure. Leaves that swept up autumn stick to winter. The soil shackle, i say to it: stay soil, stay, say it is not so, stay close, encircle the water until we have outthought one another. With the departure arrives rain and when we tilt our heads the right way we may envision the straight path of the sine waves the sky makes. i offered my body to the markings of a man’s mouth, he belted my sweat on his leather. stay a while, say i had it coming as i said and so sawed the littlest limbs from the promise of tree to prevent the growing of grove, and so saw the country change direction as a waltz enveloped a white gown on a dark woman, and so saw the country pull her fingers through water to trace the departure.
at 3:45 AM