and we’re off

the hidden conjunction-condition—
one of the many wondrous ways,
he gets to you—that he could do it—
admit it, take the thing you know
and make it so that so suddenly,
without your honest say, it grows—
but how tiring is it to follow him,
when he’s flying away so freely—
doesn’t he know there are expectations!
but no, he doesn’t, he knows exceptions
and the exceptional and what to accept,
but what is all this talk of expectations—
dearly beloved, once again,
we are gathered here today
to witness this promise born:
take my hand when you reach me!—
I’ve paved a path through,
of such golden and purple hue
where formations guide the flock
through the storms, and north-south.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *