Poem thirteen

essentially fronts
or let run the gaunt
& abstract negations
of miasmic light
or cotton rather
"symmetry created to
my fellow denizen
sojourn (stay for a day
into the woods, by
seasonal patterning
of rings of ridged
round & cozy
if only to wake
my neighbors up
blood in the midst
is not an unreal
two circles
leave us chiasmi
to circle back
in fear of hope
could you"
"you could