vii - between a brushstroke




you see it 

but what it is

is only as a glimpse silhouette

and measure it                               (but)

by a portion of our bodies

as it once was

as if to say everyone is like everyone

and achievement then is real 

and the standard for truth can be found in a hand

as if we could shake on it

like trust was built into the way we use our bodies

and our doing marked our way

  what it is, is invisible 

though it’s real as rocks

  light floats  through it

 like the unraveling of velvet in teacup hands

crinkled in poem covered prayers

rustling down my arms, exhaling into the space between music and song

so as a forehead gently lowered into oaken candlelight

we search to find the edges of the world




as if trying to feel the small hairs on your skin as their own

as if they send lightening-bolts through you

as if to keep your breathing

you must stop it

and touch just so

where any further or closer

a palace crumbles in the




When an inner situation is not made conscious, it appears outside as fate.”

- C.G. Jung