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.