crossing places and thresholds

When there is a clutter of thoughts—

the thrum of bees and ants and other busy things—

the occasional flush becomes necessary.



I would will you to be still.

I would will you to be

I would will you



otherwise I become undone looms

of heartstrings

and, unsung, my little head falls,

fails.



You could walk through my door

early morning

coming at my agony like Shylock

ready to be engulfed by

flame.

	the shock

	is never enough

	to jar us out of

	blame.







copyright 12.3.03  -erm