elegance

It is the instrument that fools us, staring first into that bright bottomless pool of blue. The tide changes, dragging patches of cloud and colors we can not quite know. This is the way we sail, each stare aiming at heaven, each sigh capturing the wind. It is a drawling dissolution, that textbook swap of states. Witnessed, we each evaporate. This is all our tools might do.

There is a rapture of wings just at dusk, a change in the feeling rent from distant flight, a balance between hope and fade. Feathers spread to their well-founded limits, the agitation trapped in the atmosphere doing all the work. The world empties and tightens all around, vapor and smoke honoring the existence of ash. Flecks and shavings billet in the restlessness that always abides. I try to remember the words I wanted first. I try to find the soul of that flight before the known.

I am a totem of aimless burdens, a shifting of some subtlety of fluids and weights. I am a bulk ladening the purpose of this chair. I type the slow preamble, I take every vow I know. That form that takes what shape is owed it, the cage of each aware disclosure. Breath tumbles down the vague decline, the consent lent to every earnest whim. Reading everything into the margins, the artless solemnity of these gusts and mistakes. Something beautiful stolen, as if that was the only gift.