Kit Kelen #1104 - in the poem (for ataraxia)

1104

in the poem

for ataraxia

I forget the moment

drift in

leave an assumption outside

need to be taut there

for the weather

I learn the track that brought me

hands of the clock left limp

the hour won’t know you then

slip across still sunlit seas

breeze through my head

old propeller craft are landing

the whole of the humpy

fallen to silence

that’s between the lines

breath to pause there

as selves are made by selves to be

in a dance of arrows

in the poem rain is falling today

each stone of it

a penny face worn

from the world

all of the ancestors equally proud

puffed with long death

lucky bastards

so it’s all guessing there

bend down to pick up

and sometimes sweep

it’s a tiny house too

my little name inscribed inside

one truth ahead

tucked up

in the poem

all the myths of having meant

haunt not quite a notion

snifter and supper

but suit myself

and one day set to music

stuck in a head that way

never wake up to myself in there

but grow as in a garden