Encircled

Imagine the comforts of an impenetrable dream.
The definitions of ‘dream’ as the blue hamper
for awesome plausibility. Is tempting.

It starts out from snow, as what soon follows
November, as not having you here, somewhere
gone over and past a span across longitudes

of northern regions in a pared sky above
the entangled coppice- its whirring yearn
that submerged in rotations of hard currents

in the Indian Ocean. Gravity of polar opposites.
The evening stars are now magnified reflections
with diaphonic vibrations mixed with auburn

tempera in a painting on the wall of the backroom,
a poem, a scene, that is a memory of an afternoon
of your place. The blind of what has past

beyond our selves. The collapse of geometry
that hid in the lush swells of the summer,
the quiet solemn moss of the house

with spore capsules that sauntered in the stalks.
So how loudly we tend to make the irremovable
adjunct tied to the swifts of tomorrow,

only known from what it has previously done
as it once touched us. You. All bareness skewed
with an oracle protected by a rib, to ascribe

to a conic forever parallel with what has been
assembled in the vaulted containments. Remain
alarmed with ice in the sun of the night. Together.

Knowing what belongs inside of impossible answers.