Arcs

Arcs

Through that solid form and wearisome faults
        she smelt
All the wild aroma ripen
in the company of whirlwind matters
relieving the joy she often felt
    in the dumb-show of just herself
Watching
the jagged rocks spume dark chatter
The way
Loose things do fly in ideal arcs
She saw
“its too good an opening to resist"
And took that flowering fist apart as well
Secretly
with blistering acts of smiles
In the tentative courtyard of towering apples

Through these conferences and inward vaults
        she heard
All law in obbligato hush-hush
careless of the tongues daunting deeds
accompany all music she’s incurred
    When serpentine pigments lurk
Touching
the tulip vision stark cursive breeds
The way
Loose things do fall in ideal arcs
She felt
“it would do me good to believe”
And traces the soft invention of breathing mountainscapes
Deliberately
In the soft rain that falls
When purple posses her fourth dimension lace