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I’ve heard that touching is how we put
the mist in our minds to work. I’ve heard
that fishes hold a slippery secret: don’t think
there is a lasting flesh. The lines of lips
and their hooks will part—there is always
this threat of When. Thus hold faith
in grief and hunger—
the salmon slips the throat of the grizzly!
To have something wet and live
there must have once been sand
and sadness. You must have dropped a thing
accidentally (the divisor of the left hand
is the right hand). Now run away (hurry)
if you believe this: there’s an option
to being where you’ve always been.
Consistency is overrated!
Felicity and failure keep us garrulous and zany,
which is muscle and mass gone right.
I have seen the mighty blueprints of belonging:
they are blue, of course, and beautiful and blurred—
I went and brushed them up against my body.
I’ve heard Delight is the equal of Becoming.
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