Men plunder men’s best interests
like elements that form earth
taken then woven
into secret conclave.
What moves me
to require a sturdy tree
just one of many
to hold to
from which the anima emanates
is a natural force.
No time now for an age
Whose light militia must bear thee
arms in the upper air in the bottom-
heavy little hand’s unnumbered spirits.
It bewilders me.
Lines unwill a shell.
It bewilders me until struck a resonant
the last lovely face I see
in the interest of brightness
of blooming into a universe.
A wound is not a world in itself
is not wound into a clock
It is not visited by gods has not limit
in time but we so easily forget
the way the green the air gravity
holds us together.
It isn’t unthinkable to be held
together each of us by the same matter.
It isn’t the traffic or violence
time enacts it isn’t the monster we keep
tucked inside until it becomes rage
or peerless sorrow
that touches everyone
the computer says we know.
These little paths of sun
this warm animal
my companions, my best interest
only I can squander.