like fire, the heat of loins, or an infatuation
blooming red as adolescence. It’s a thesaurus
of beautiful things that lodge the lozenge inside
our gasping for breath. It’s the sick intention
of every memory and is whiter than waking up blind.
It’s an especially fragile bubble the color of secrets.
It desires the dust of thirsty ground that soaks up love
the way children leap. It is the warmth of all things yellow
and always waits for someone else to adjust the thermostat.
It is softer than the way wind cools skin. The allness of everything
close to death, the shrill misery that, in time, becomes reason,
never really letting go, and the pleading for just one more
goodbye hug are each found inside the way it unfolds
all the way back to flat.
From my chapbook "The Allness of Everything" (Maverick Duck Press)