Ten Thousand Turtles

There was a morning once, once there was a day. Touch matters.

 

Lockets from the nineteenth century, extensions of the way we live in language. He never made it to Israel, only into history, there to live forever.

 

What is deeper than we can go? Walking through summer drizzle, wiping our eyes.

 

We stay with the dialogue, we keep trying to find our way to peace. The stories we could tell but don’t do not go untold.

 

What helps includes distance. At a late juncture becoming willing to drink flavored coffee, ashamed in a way that is silly, but still.

 

On the backs of ten thousand turtles I attest to my gratitude for turtles. War is never as far away as you think.

 

One “gets it right.” She reads on the couch, cats dozing on the quilt across her lap, I walk quietly back and forth, rehearsing for something but what.

 

Disorder reigns here and there, it’s no good denying it. Jesus in the bedroom at night while I can’t sleep, reminding me there is a problem that he solved that I can solve too.

 

Easy come easy go is such a con. In this sentence I will use the word “prism,” with the understanding we are talking about a process that cannot otherwise be put into words.

 

It grounds out in this: this this, please do not fall for the many distractions arguing otherwise. My tongue inside my lover, tasting her forever.