jayivan

The Hideous Specific
clouds the vagueries which lie
at truth’s empty core

Bit-lipped and heart-slipped,
my face (gravel-embraced and
black-booted) erased.

Be the tree: empty

at your core, a hardened lore;

thin-skinned, sun-akin.

Look: pelicans fly
low in the dusk, over waves
curling between us

on the hunt or just
gliding past, both us and them,
floating free, perhaps

choosing which current
the body needs to push the blood
and swell our sources breed.

“The firefly’s gone dim,”
Cricket chirps from weedy perch,
backlit violet sky.

On these rocky shores,
reach out, take my hand: starfish
wake from the cold sea

spring rain taptapping
on my windowsill
cloud’s will

Daily the sun edges
upward, stretching towards summer
in the darkest days.