POEM

Here I began to think of your mind as
Latin verse, an infliction to astonish me
with your caw, pecking away at my bones
like sunbeams returning above the horizon
as the moon decomposes in front of us,
a silversmith’s winter; no green & red
lights; Synesthesia, too, experiencing itself,
untarnished in this ivory-backed ghostly aura
to the eye with a furry like a sped-up
windshield-wiper swiping through the overcast
as if in a sea where you are with me,
staining glass together because both of our souls
have opened up with a flora of color that runs together
like an assemblage of multiplicities, becomings,
affects, events. Picturesque outbursts.
Anthropomorphic clouds hover above us
like steel beams: the details are like a careful
elderly person. So be it. Selah, as if praising
our passing of time that goes missing like
the flash in a pan, like losing teeth in dreams
representing empty-handedness, nakedness,
goopy the way we exist in Lifelines of fluidity.