Land then. Uniformly broken. At rate
collected and birthed away. From you
comes again. The same I meet.

News. Ashes. The most vacuum.
Parted to orchard and join. Collected
as fooled diagrams of fear. Juiced.

But back then. Returning each
minute to itself. A plan shed from
its marble arches. And blood oboe.

In each comb, hammer and joint
pitched so. And child as a moment
looked back to. As usual. The instrument

focused the hands. The hook placed
and penned duly. Sliced. Fitted. Reformed
as through dramas. The making of glue

to branch each supplemental limb.
And how, this string hunted behaves
at heat and flagged mastery.


Excerpt from SOFT