when you arrive at the perfect piece,

it sits in your mouth like a kiss,


a deliciousness you wish you could

hold onto forever. sometimes i


wait at the bus stop, and the big

whoosh lumbers up, and i wave


it away. i’m waiting, i say, but not

for the bus. for what, i cannot


articulate; but when it comes, it’s

like going back through the tunnel


and finding the seed from which

you sprang, and everything else


just falls away, and the song you sang

as a child rings like a bell in its wake.



One thought on “art

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