I don’t like this title
Con/Jur/d, 4/10/2021

When I started this poem,
my brain was teeming,
hungry ghosts and language
parasites,

although I wrote,
“How shocking the daffodil’s
yellow,” I didn’t mean it. Nor
did I mean,

“The boundaries
of of the vast, Unknown Country.”
The place those surfaces come
from too shallow.

If I was to dip,
the toe of my shoe in the pond
where we retain those images,
just like,

the woman
who walked by my window,
fixing her hair walks__________________out
of frame,

shimmers, ripples and is gone
better to pull from here, with
You. See? What would you
name it?

That’s better.