Another poem you invite while lying
on the floor of leaves scattered in
a defensive frenzy of misunderstanding.
A quick storm passed over in the efforts
to comprehend the multiple meanings
of a crisis indicated by a certain word.
We wrote it while in the mindset
of pondering a specific instance as
opposed to generalizing our situation
and our positions taken on the hardness
of the floor. A floor with no covering
and the window as a source of light,
our bodily attachment versus
machinations of our reading
comprehensions, each splinter felt
through our skin transmits to
the friendly hardness of our bones.
We are soft in the room and our
particles greet each other
in the softness of our voices talking
what we have read, lying on top
of books, paper versus wood.