What Came Blooming

I'd really prefer 

if you closed your eyes 

when you read this poem, but 

I know that most people probably

can't, so if you can squint 

as you read it 

that would be 

ever so considerate.

Lozenge throated in sitting up straight with a bulb out her eye

 
she feather traced blue solitude into something softer and rounder

but not perfect she wouldn’t dare to stress a witness with perfection


since that would cause comparison and after all it stifled

her creativity under the water of this place called what is possible

yes traced this feather and softened it softened it placed



all that was left of the sky and pushed it into a heap so we could

palm it with our blood heated cheeks and call it beauty in

the reflection of this knife she forgot about the knife but



you didn't you never placed it down never trusted any of it

even softened even imperfect even in that supposed dangerless ambiguity

no you didn't forget the promises the before the waiting the



way tenderness ripened fast like it was afraid

in the well you had spent your life furnishing with love

poems and songs about remembering no


you didn't forget what comes after heartbreak.