There are only so many thoughts you can take
until your mind falls away to the hedges.
There is only one breath between you, and the one who becomes thoughtless.
Terrible dancer, go hurriedly away tonight. Fly back to the bluffs and the cottages and the lark-singing boy among trails, trails into mossy glades.
Forgotten spirits, and vernacular bulges. I foam past islands and lose in the great lark of things.
Lose the framed-ness of minutiae, lob off you old great sport, keep going, damnit, pray forward.
For you are the way, and the light, and round at the edges. I see lips and eyes and hands.
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