a word speaks of dominion: the obstinacy
of muscle and the sneer of deception, claws
digging into textual grey, the beleaguered
rupture of present with future. rainwater
streaks against chipped paint. an edifice
reveals the rot, knuckle-dusters on your
tongue; we bend only to the dull pressure

of the soul. a word speaks of mastery, not
the ugly call to insurrect, to subdue, to
slowly roll gall in the mouth. wilderness
portends no extant misuse, but the
possibility of tenderness, tended with
the hum of artistry, the joy of composition,
a patching and a balance. in stillness, we see

the slow burnishing of fruit, stretched across
the callouses of misstep and misspeaking,
the slaking of bitter heat with living irrigation,
the hardiness of shoots, leaves, and roots. the
steady composition of a new life each day, active,
bracing, learned improvisations in the rituals
of mercy, scoresheets and floor plans, played
and replayed, sweetness dancing, on the tongue.