the humming
the dull vibration pull of gravity's shore cupped arc of tension. the mosquito lands-stays-forgets and blue fades to dusk with dust, hymns, mines, left behind for later.

later
hands stare the clean paper
sitting still dry sitting crisp
born the bore to sit
enough to form and draw a sum, dash, sign here, a trifle.

trifle
falling, push your sweet ear to my lap, my sink, your warm smile senile dove. my tide, my ebb, runs thick with envy free from guilt of white dull morning light.

speak clearly
please my frown cannot turn the lampglow stone. it is heavy and the wind does not hold the whole, not even of a small brown swallow.

swallow you must
your breath for me to see inside you
inside me the oustide still-born air of hope