orpheus after

after the night

drowns, it opens 

the forest, pale green forest, ajar

and watered by the blooming.

 

if I try, I can always reconstruct

the things that are most 

important. today, home 

is this measure 

 

of ground. thrown shutter 

of branches strewn 

into cover, each color breaking 

the seams, tensed

 

in their dew and refracted as 

a parched red in brown shadowed 

and swallowed by 

a canopy roof seen

 

from below. the trees empty themselves

to the ground, 

their figures rotting 

as winnowed outlines rent

 

in all direction. the same image

that reaches into my lungs and 

takes. pulling away

my inside. pulling the fear that I

 

had missed the coming

until I had already arrived. a feeling 

as small and as bare as

the process of a home. 

 

I am aware 

of all of this. I 

am accepting. it,

coming lightened by

 

its own absence, in the morning, 

when all other morning things are still

undisturbed. the quiet

fastening of self-

 

poverty. as the dew formed overnight

in the folds of a palm fall and 

will split, bearing away the progress

overhung. so yes.

 

please, yes. for this, 

tomorrow and 

tomorrow, I will continue 

to walk for as long

 

as the edges 

can bear to hold.