Gravity Park

Take heed. Or heart. In the killing hours of spring
aside from danger. Protracted, the witness assumes.
There is irrelevance.

A jug of water half. Like in the old days, when we used to
not be used to moments or things. The last pressure point
before we reach a gravity park.

In these shades I rested and under this spring I drank. What
logic can be lying in the grass? I poke my head round
awkward tables. I see a light.

I am pruning the foliage of a principle. To be the justest
of the just or not to be? It's about you madame.
And about you mate. And about all of us.

Forms of novel navels are appearing in the dark. Spectres
of moths glowing like blue tree freckles. A small
bud of a flower.

'Let them fall I say', the newborn.
'They will anyway',
I hear and spend the evening with an echo.