This
Poem makes up
For the memory of the past
That was not lived fully
Eradicates the tie and
Gravitation of regret.
This
Poem supplants
Death for life
The wiry hand of
The reaching tree suddenly
Coming into flower.
This
Poem extends past
The reach of the invisible
Screen upkept by four eyed
Librarians chattering against
Their charge, propelling
Breath against impassible white.
This
Poem somehow a crumb
In the wind from within the wall
Without a claim to sustain no
More than a common matter of
Miraculous speech.
This
Poem is
An assemblage of string to pull
With camera eye and radio
Tongue foreclosing
Immanent ear.