LARGELY SPUN FROM THIS OCCUR TO WHAT WAS 

I was walking through it openly in which I moved
dense memory still golden or the sea a world of rocks

Gold sun hanging in microwavel heat
dominated by nothing but bodies of constellations

grew so supple bathed in a painter's way of dreaming
that accepts and is on dares led

A rose of falling distance stretched toward translation

Dear self this rising precaution
fashioned under excessive allowance
where we'd seen a murky outline of the widest hands

I was captioned then as a paragraph
to grasp at everyday things

Crickets in earnest, brown music with subtitles
skipping stones among the trees