(no subject)

Each gap in the leaves both a path and a secret,
each jump of a glance a new breadth to the day.

All treetrunks and hillsides inviting to whisper
to lean with you with you to roll down or slide.

No window's quite flat as it looked once it's touched.

Our faces are foam of what rolls out and in;
distinctions of place just reanglings of flocks where they settle.

Air only lacks dye to surprise beyond telling.

I said what would occur and then it did.
I talked up every part of seven days.
But then I heard the song I'd heard just once so long ago.
And not one moment's fit a moment since.

It says I never saw a way I didn't want to go.
I never met a pair of eyes that didn't change the day.
I never reached a hand out but I filled it up with shells.
Couldn't ever fathom what I knew.