Her Eyes Falling Under My Glance

She is a phrase from that lost
language half-learned then not
let loose of or resisted saying
blood bruise poet poem.

Although I love that she does
how could my partner love me
so needy so slight without
her eyes falling under my glance?

A creature created by nature
with elements for cogs and data
for wires and homespun pearls
to facilitate my highstrung pulleys.

A man like me with swollen
joints mostly in the lower
extremities creaking with sting
of having forgotten so much.

I go to the well and draw up
a bucket of her stitting with books
stacked in the front row peering
elegantly into my urgency.

My steepest inclinations slip
down the decline that supplies
and renews the river spent
on spilling out where crows fly.

I know an environment is where
the character of a species tests
its fumblings and its futurity
against what my or may not be.

And in this house I bang
my shins and knuckles against
strong doors opened and closed
the next day shut and ajar.

I make sounds and hear her
my vision cloud to cloud tries
her ardent sufference bent toward
turning my sharpness edgewise.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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