Stumbling On Clarity

                       white

           circles            strewn

       on                          the black

carpet                                 made

     me                              think

           in                     crop

                    circles:

crop circles like these.

Touching fingers.

This un-seaming.

If it weren't for the floorboards

I'd have sworn we were submerged -

Like flashes of silver inside

some warm and salty

          ocean,

swooning inside the surf

of tiny catfish chasing

the tales of their own bubbles.

Fluid

thought

afterthought

all

wet.

The pale pressure
of your REM

bleeding with my own.

Words

clinging speechless

like

dangling

stars

hanging from fishing lines

overhead;

no glass ceiling

but the great and slender
surrender to
nothingness
is the divide between
this world and
that,
meniscus,

the brief wooden

arc

of Neptune's canoe,

floating by

while the sea king

steals a summer
thunderstorm nap,
tossing and turning
in a dream
of  two lovers lost
at sea.

Finding my self

Lost in circles
there

with you

was as unexpected

as the sunlit globe

that hovered outside

that window

like

a second

coming.

I    could     rest    less
for                         ever

in                          sides           

these                   sorts                

of                              un

glass boxes with you.

Crop circles in this song. (click here)

Hidden song for lost and starving lovers. (click here)