poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

O Reader


O reader, poem’s art-imated ear

settles as ours not effortless but joined

to our confusions as her own, not clear

but clearing, wanting all we are deployed

our crap-shoot histories, our sunken dreams

we yet imagine vital though they lie

four fathoms deep with ruptured hull and seam

in darkness long as death and half as spry

her granulated eye absorbing yours

to see what we have yet to see but will

a curving hallway out of seeing soars

to pasts reclaimed in future’s bonded still

authenticating heart conjoins with yours

whose life through even hinted channels pours

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