A geography for your character can be learned
only after the blind cord frays. I feel impatience,
a gift perhaps, but when applied in retrospect
only a small comfort brought hence
across a footbridge, over carelessly spaced boards.
As if expecting a lamp to be lit by someone else, I await guests.
Await inexactitude. Whether or not you comply
I’ll glide across the lawn in my head, away from roses planted
before we moved here or moved together at all. Herein
my reward, with grace we can settle into
as water streams down the panes and our breath condenses opposite.
In search for transport, a new cut spurns its source,
and absolution is all we need now to become complementary.
The vicinity calls out bookishness and chastises those
who have put off visiting for so long, but I like it anyway
and once again look past the rings on the table, treated
like a wing. Treats the medium like air. A deterrent unfurls
above the buildings in view, so gentle like its own breeze
so creatively laid out like all we choose among,
stark in labor, light before. Unable to generate
anything but noise we settled for thought, sorted out
whose errors were whose and added these to accumulations.
The time laid aside for further mulling has healed
into rope and twisted on itself while we idled nearby
in a game. Now that we have learned all this
an application can be sought, undone, a glistening lake.