we have weathered lacerations:
how a legend is nurtured, grows
how all else seizes upon it
surfaces so immediate, so plastic

beneath inscrutable weight
to become lighter than water -
how one floats only to pass the time
	how everything boils down

ghost of your passing, the mark
ink-thin, indelible, thin as paper
gently curls in upon its own whittled spaces

clean edge of distance, one imagines a precipice built fraction upon fraction
cusp where words allow no purchase

we draw our own conclusions, cast roots
into air - cast roots		into air

drawn closer now as if by fishing line, puppet strings
the memory of an entrance, a threshold

idea of a point upon which all else hinges
we are not so dear to the weight of worlds
only the hands reaching
the frontier that all adjoin	asymptotic

we are plants craning towards light
faces pressed flat against glass

we are all faces

compressed in one

and fast approaching