^{what we do not dream we cannot manufacture}

Art follows ear and echo

covers/chooses

selective

eyesight searches the dust

and is surprised by love’s

apophatic blinking

 

what love sees in daily light

holds open color—ink, roar, melody and quiet

is its own steady gaze

to better endure bumps

 

“always more song to be sung” between the words

jars memory and its subatomic

moving at the speed of thought

 

in random thirsts rise 

name the sensations, 

to fish for breath,

combing through hair as tangled as nets, as

 

thick as the beat of blossoms’ 

 

a fine line between mind and senses spinning

in which her/my/their body becomes expert 

without waiting for unified theory,

 

loving the body of one’s choice and

 

to live so surrounded

with fewer asterisks and

more verbs and

fewer security alerts
 

there eloquence before 

and above

the grave.
 

^{*For Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, and Breonna Taylor}