Kit Kelen #1317 a tiptoe in

1317

a tiptoe in

for ataraxia

they with the woken light

each where the world begins

I, bed in bones

come from the warmth

they hope for it

otherwise dark

edge up

each as if always now

the walking birds

this wallaby

a kookaburra sits

tableau

idle often musing

all on impulse

such soullessness

no heart at all

but beats the blood around  

their deaths a likewise mystery

where is it they go

no trace

I speak of the creatures of course

every jack one of them

out of forever

not one of them thinks yoga

but I follow naming after

golden to the moment they are

all resources stretched, no store

but scheming, sometimes swing it

rend and tear to be

good to the very last drop