after the melt,
what strange mold
creeps where blood
once ran, its sound
less pulse, more drum
mist
mourn
mourn
after the melt,
what strange mold
creeps where blood
once ran, its sound
less pulse, more drum
And related cravings
We knew its texture even as it was always escaping us. Like how you can hold the child but not the whole life. Or bear daily witness to the setting sun and be daily reminded how impossible it is to see. The thing so often had to do with finding the question that went with the answer the dream was giving. Naturally, many tried to turn this mystery into a theoretical challenge. Which was something different than entering its all.