I like drawings that are almost erased,
Mornings that you haven't quite broken into,
Drawings that recall hauntingly but never shout.

The black line rings -
A frame might know what your name contains,
But not upon which walls it reverberates.

Insanity from laughter or tears,
Walking the wire with a long pole,
Toe first, then heel.

Change almost misses our eyes,
Altered favorites, glances miss -
But the self that melts the ice cube stays here.

Glass can never be
As perfect and delicate
As an insect.

The ice cube begs
for the watch to
break the distance of its glass.

Woven straw hat
filled with a glacial stone
breaks the wrist of a man with a scratch on his watch.

Striated gemstones after ice melts.
It is very true: nothing has changed,
Blow on your fingers to thaw them.

Asymmetry of creation and destruction of glass.
Hot ooze sand fusion and brittle shatter.
Moist greenhouse air mixing at the door with Chicago winter wind.

Chihuly's dinosaur eggs hatch,
Leach the yolk of tomorrow alongside
Cycad wrapping the fallen child.

Jungle breath above fern foot step,
Breathing within primordial potential:
Frozen mid swallow.

a stranger singing from a window
and we are still free to believe
the myth of the infinite

a singing
cleared out around
pin-point sting

but even if the world
gathered itself to a brimming brink
a whisper would have to leap out