the curvature of

a rib bone, of
constitutional space.

feeling fast, thinking
slow sand in moss

believing finding a conch
in the forest green wood.

relativity theory only relative
for quantum doctors

undermining confidence
to cull all shells mistaken

for roots beneath a tree.
an incessant incandescent

sky of stars so alive
breathing and intent,

like bodies tending to
lie and bodies tending to

on craggy mountains

there is no sound
we heard nothing

which is something
I knew everything:

the secrets of oceans
finding blue beyond

coast and state lines
ending a life like that

or trying to feel the sun
through yellow leaves

soothing skin and
together we could fix

all of this we
believe in what bends,

a crane cranes his neck
another is folded

from looseleaf
and flies.

words means every thing
with a stillness;

give up on monogenesis
make 6,500 ways to speak

grow slowly, silent
the paradox of choice

leave us with
bodies telling stories:

the dialectical art
we only speak

argot, slang, cant
and so on

we say touch:
I say remembrance

melodies of defiance
locked in lovers

inside rust mountains
in rock we let hum

and I swear,
and I swear,

I swear to you
it was worth it all.

there is something

nothing, really, ends