Wonder

i have never found much
simplicity

in life

i watched a moth fall
on a pond once

and live flagrantly

spinning to lift water-
logged wings

in a death climax

of terminal fractals
etching

the mirror surface

* * *

that was thirty years
ago i might add

still in sacred awe

there is no time
whatsoever

that is not a taste

or wreathed with
leaves of deep

silver

* * *

eating and being eaten
we all are

whatever the rest

or the fortress or
sacred ground

made ready or not

* * *

yes we wear masks
of most intimate

rhythms

on various scales
of magnitudes and

memories and

visitations of
secret and unbearable

hoverings

all our shudders
exposing what is

lost in projection

* * *

the holy is always
more than can be

told or held or sold

in our resurrections
and surrenders

the ends of all

our beginnings
apparitions

dreams dreamed

by action of gravity
no one wins anything

but new beginnings

* * *

comforts there are
unseen in splendor

of sun

burnt landscape
unversed

but traversed

undebatably
indefensibly

i wonder

* * *

of the Spirit
plumage

the risked

reasons
of our first

unlearned day