no one

No one swoons the way you do
As the full moon fattens its celibate roof 

She does it with the woof 
telling the ceiling its 

half-way to heaven back from the moon
recalling its unexpected grace and
a quarter of the way 
her hands feel mile after 
mile the way her feet hold on

the face of conviction



the force of conviction
night a secret whip
the care

tender hands
paning the hour
its rough discontent

little tidbits of tyrants and trying
sense gathered to pronounce geese 

continuing spring