[5/22/14 – inspired by Marianne Moore’s “What Are Years?”]


They tell us of complex emotions without

explaining systematically, not structuring symmetrically,

our logically impossible heart-pulsations.

The desire of mankind is a whimsy, laughable

thing to see, for I cannot know it, shape it, see it, say it


well at all –– the articulacy of my valiant endeavors

stutters and wanes and spitters into

a weary-eyed query to my father the architect:

how do these unforeseen contours evoke

such contradictory phenomena of feeling?


Silence, my initial feedback ––

some unmeasured, unremembered time afterwards

surfaces and floats a whisper as answer:

Orient your curiosity to the pure circular luminosity of the full moon

on a weary-eyed night such as this –– let it purge you, hear yourself think. . .


When the summertime has tumbled its circuit through ––

perhaps then I shall grasp the reasons for my contours

and make sense of cycling out the cardiac tension of my present meditations.

Reaching forth and digging heels with equal intensity is

a mystery unraveled only bathing in moonlight and listening


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