constant dovetail
half plan constant dovetail,
each into another,
baby the furniture is old, the bones
brittle some break
sometime worry for mother
she even older even more frail
than the bridge
imagined spanning a dream
high up on an impossible
ridge where a friend
pulls a slab of beef
out of dark soup, where
rooms interlock and shift dimension
time is cracked, words wander,
meaning may be disguised,
as in the world of our time,
baby we hold on, we
smile and joke to anchor
our bloody selves to the sky.
whole mind wakes
to another virgin morning,
before coffee is the stretch
from fading dreams towards
sunlight and weather and air
that is felt
completely
alone.
Edward looks strangely familiar...
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