The Sun or Deer

The abstract becomes terrible, 

especially when unable to taste salts in the ocean

full gone toward a notion and grasping hope having become 

tuneful and fearful at last,

the other as a shared notion is

stacked and multiplied, clipped and untoward as humans can be

toward another whose face, 

like mine,

quests for a opening, bright door.

In meeting and recognition of smiles,

we shore up faith, 

images to be fulfilled and walk on and on and outward

toward the sparkling and unhinged night-

our world is not for the night, but rather the day when 

the exchange is open

and, in meeting and rejection of expressions, 

entropy within an inherently emotive system

enthrones the fastest, remorseless runners.

Up from the earth and outward n tight circles

dogwood, lilacs, and willows wait

dormant and smooth, perpendicular to the mother

and with sweet juices reserved, tuneful and without fear, 

they wait for the sun or the deer

mindful of nothing but a state of faithless eminence

in truth, we are all immobile

and as abstract as they,

though free to pretend toward something else 

that will be destroyed.