#339 - last quarter of the final cookie

 

6.xii.20

339

last quarter of the final cookie

 

they come back to us –

               selves inside

mannerism in a cough

we are them now

or else they’re not

 

it’s every creature was itself

and future pointing too

 

let trees be tall

and far down dark

 

let everyone be reaching

 

a notice was nailed up

woods midst

over the postbox

and later taken in

 

come blank to the scripted borders

so

I wouldn’t like to live in a house where

had read every book

but here

 

weather comes from a box and shake

we mist it in the after storm

in a bark down day

 

ask

when did I lopside myself?

take this scar to heart

 

when to

step off a world at the edge

and over

and

over

come with the words

to find out where we are

?