Poetry:A Delicate Emergency

A Delicate Emergency

The tiny bacteria feed

on tiny bacteria feeding.

The teardrops hide in slivered ducts,

ready at a moment’s notice.

Everyday, the back and forth,

the swing of arms and legs

and testicles choked in clothing.

Above these wooden floorboards,                                                 

where the back aches are caused by over comfort,

                                        

I have the choice of music,

books, sleep and heating.

I still cannot bear the

unkempt lilting of my dreams
while Moving goes untangling

a future in the sky.

Flesh is not a tireless

shelter and I don’t know                           

for sure that all my sounds

will one day be rewarded

with the meaning's delicate emergency:
all the clippings, all the little

light-bent things and falling seeds,

all that goes growing out

beneath the bright gray sphere of Heaven
with Its’ quiet bends of sky

forever arcing free of empathy!