four years of gone
is two times two years
of left us so what knob
do I turn to coax buds
into revealing blossom
when nothing is mattering
[ winter trees tumor into sky & lambent glaciers calve far from me & the sound of water to ice & the numb fingersnap of springcoming & a roller skate vine & a disc of fire & a false pulse & fish boxed in air unaware of their water purpose & sponge larvae rotate as short cilia mexican wave & amino acids not pausing to think what's good for them & somebody describeing a forest of rhododendrons & I breaking the word down to feed syntactical birds swooping down grammatically laying eggs in upper case Os that bloom bird by bird to roost on all those words I cannot visualize & the rivers split end & the alluvials comb & the concrete chariots move because the world turns & leaves fall even when I don't look & that makes me keep looking until the trees aware & summon a wind & shimmy in it a brouhaha of giggling greens & ribbony swords of sweating moonlight slashing at the grass through the glass roof & aburatsubo bay no longer egg redding every two years ]
when we mull over the name
of the cuban pink trumpet tree
waiting for someone
who has already returned.
~Ajay
5/5/2020
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poetry~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
