whatever the story
You don’t see the moment,
Whatever the story –
Love, treachery, revenge, enlightenment.
You don’t see the ending,
Whatever the plot –
Rags to riches, riches to rags then riches again.
Still, something in you knows,
Beneath, that
It’s passed,
That something colder will
Occupy the topology
Of all-at-once
Distant summer dreams.
Warmer faces and
Warmer teas will give warm solace
On such sorrow-tainted, snowy eves
When you wander about, wondering
If something new will find you
Beneath the fallen leaves
Dissolving into earth,
Dripping toward seeds
That, yes,
Will find their way through to meet
The sun rising, once the snow
Has melted clear.
the teapot society
Define any thing:
A summer breeze, a tin roof, a
Snowflake drifting, a girl, a father,
Your boyfriend or your sister’s new shoes –
Even a teapot.
Create its place, joy, sorrow:
Draw lines around
Its embedded time, and sound, and forms –
What did you
Make for each? A name,
A face, a scent, a flower-
Filled field on a perfect
Day, the moment of tragedy knowing, looking
Down, (always down, then,) or looking
Straight and up, (always straight and up –
When a then carries a belief,)
A background, a time unmoving, a
Movement, an alternative, a feeling,
A fear, a safeness?
Am I this teapot, topped
With a dragon, tail curled and
A living flower tattooed in
Yellow-green pigment on my body?
Am I an implication, only:
The space of a teapot,
A space needed in
A time needed with
A movement –
A sideways moving, discretely, inside – so like
A thing among other things defined.
We make a warm drink together,
You and I,
In society,
Blending the flavors of
Dried things that don’t become,
Not yet, until
You no longer need the space I hold
And I no longer need
You to create the teapot
I am yet with you, in
Society, we remain – dragon, tea, and all.
[…] The Blu Nib (a couple things) […]