Antipodes

 

Dark water gives light

layers—lives a clouded root,

signal instant of the mudborn

minnow. Laughter in the level

below–

 

what say,

synapse, of

nothing, a some-break

 

in the onrush of knowing?

 

*

 

 

In the velvet fabric

of bone-matters,

lines continue

on the bone

 

that once infused a lively

love, long word, primal fear

of knowing

 

 

*

 

desperate to prove the

antipodes–

 

root, the childhood

heart,

 

nonsense understanding

of trees beneath

the canopy,

 

of distant conversations

 

 

*

 

nervine maps along a lost

edge,

 

lost luck

in a clouded root–

 

Networks continue

to infiltrate.

 

A map mirrors

cloud ligations.

 

 

*

 

 

There are no right

angles beneath the skin.

 

Reach into the stream—

the current

reorders itself,

 

engulfs the line.