ancillary inquiries

When I lean back and breathe in air
at midnight, why does it feel more real?

What is the Platonic antithesis
of this feeling of falling?

Did your peacock come with feathers
or was that just an afterthought?

When rain throws itself against a window
does it cringe before the crash?

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Can I find a space in the bottomless ocean
where the abyss is seen not thought?

Where in the world did we get
this much color in our bones?

Will the reeds rustle as wildly
in a thousand years as today?

And if God is a summer's day
to whom do we turn in December?

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Is there some heavenly calculus
for lightning seen and unseen?

Where do you find the thread
that stitches the hinges of knees?

Are we still slumbering upright?
Are at least the dragonflies awake?

Does surf slide across the sand in
night quiet as could be, or quieter?

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How does the layered sunrise
shoot through me like an arrow?

Why were these hieroglyphs written
so sharply in the sky?

Do the fractal stained window panes
show your faith like a mirror?

Or is there something else inside
that whispers like the wind of you?

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If all the shades of blue
can't contain us, can the sun?

Do we disappear like sound
of the flint-flint-flint of a lighter

when the flame's finally sprung
for it's pure and passing purpose?

Now that we've been thrown here
when will we dance?

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If I keep moving slowly through the wet grass
will my softly muddied feet feel free?

Who can make you feel young
after you've written a will?

And when the ink has dried does the paper desire
the tattoo of death written across it's face?

Could the end of something as true and
intangible as you really be forever?

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Does the thunder make you hide
as the stars hide from the day?

And just what is the thunder,
this ocean of sudden sound

crashing over even skyscrapers
like a tsunami of the sky?

But when the storm breaks in half
like a cloud of red sea under sun,

do you wonder how many centuries are hidden
in the making of this moment?