The first light of owls
Holds the afternoon
In spindly shadow
And iridescent distance
Why are there so many
When there is only one?
Even a glance at the glare is
An affront to the universe you nurture
But still there's the warmth of the forms
Love has settled into
In lieu of the touch
You resisted
Conditions of fear
You could call them:
The trees, the patterns,
The road
The comforts of limitation
Hold you like a glove
For possibility must be
Parsed sparingly
When we're made to evade the truth,
Ever-grateful we are always caught wrong
Instead of nursing our own
Private destiny
