Don’t try to be good at it
Just be here with me
I need to slip into
Some deep sauce
A little lost
In the vibration
Nothing can make us stumble
Almost doing
Everything we wanted
Two by twos on stilts
A few yards away
Holding ancient forevers
At the bottom of summer
The night tools of Dalí
Dowsing next to me
Painted around the
Echos of your ears
You heard my voice
I crumble with mercy
Beneath your witching rod
Detaching the photograph
Of my memory in what could be
My upper breath
My lower left pocket
Carries an illusion
That the possession of anything
Is possible
Even when I find you
Like some drifting
Shape of red
I discovered on the shore
Sitting still in the
Flashing chips of light
Inhaled slowly as salt
Sacred vespers and
Divine pause
Circle the caravan
Of your heart
Around my waist
© GÄ
Poétique 