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
The Dog Star 
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