}----WATERTORCH----{

Somewhere in the future alone
this tumult will come down
with its powers to greet me
unready

a cabbage in the dark
lips without prayer
how many vents are open
to the heart of present time

where nothingness brings on no disappointment
I'm watching the form of the neighborhood slut
dissolve into every tree trunk as a blessing
the all violet around her
the moment pods touched soil and she was playing soccer
froth of weeks or froth of years in devotion
always the same, a snapshot breaking on the nets.