on mobile? turn phone sideways!
mud on my sneakers song stuck in my head
“Kiss City” on the unmarked trail, no terrain
for distraction
this absolutely undirectional pull
twice I passed a blue spruce cone on red clay,
a shock of contrast that could not be replicated
(you are the center of a small universe)
a poet talks to the faculty about the wandering
it takes to language outside systems of crimped process
the path through not-knowing
and for days that’s all I do wander and use breaks
to fill out crosswords, a practice of refutation
(you are the small center of my universe)
each breath shard crystallizes the expanse
between lung and longing I could
stand in the cold crunching street salt underfoot
my cheeks numb, forgotten
for longer than I like to admit
could we
spare the breath the pain it takes to crystallize
that unspoken bidding to choose and be chosen
(you small the universe, you center me)
