To Talk Of Things

Hymns abound as I walk the park, sensations spread and melt like butter
then slide against the unseeable world. Terse, and incremental movements,
quantum entanglement, textile moments unregistered, the calls of souls.
I am picking at my cardboard cup of ice cream, hazelnuts and caramel
swirled inside the concoction of milk from a cow, sugar, egg, plant gum,

and the sun

is melting it, condensation building on the walls. I think of rain attempting
to get back up to the sky, the struggle. Such is energy: what it does to things.
Permeates, collides, eats, secreted, blowing, fusion, speeding up, slowing
I have reached the dock – my destination. I head to the end and stand there.
Green Lake is a mirror, for the blue sky, but not for me. Not unless I lean out

and look.

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