The breeze is spilling my guts for me
And it's hollering your text messages
Through the valley

There'll be no peace
Until the timestamps have been reconciled
The whole earth cataloged and rendered through a fine fine screen

The pulp of experience
And honeyed sap of dreams
Slurry of living relics

The cruor swabbed from the wall
Assessors winking on the call
There's something from the margins of your index
That remains

Decaying scent of contacts
In the wood sorrel by the trail
A patch of dirt sending ransomware to grateful bodies

The sanguine joyful yipping down the road
Saturates the quarter moon and seeps in through the window

I made a recording but the medium broke down
Dewdrops in the gully

Lighting & dousing focal fires
A terminal command in the spring flood
I could see the morning had arrived but I forgot to mention it

Fresh growth on the dark boundary of the earth
Glacial time in the melted core by the dogwood

I clipped the blossoms in the small hours and cut my hand
I pressed them and lived on the dim border

I left something in the house but I don't know what it is
A cherished gap in the archive

Witness the deaccession form
A loose tile marks the window
The wind is singing through the traces

And the palinoptic sunlight
Dims the border