North

in search of a true-nature tribe
the proper study of man became everything
a hot hidden Africa, a colonial playground except bullet-proof like sugar spring and lips
lined with logic and maps
tasks, deadlines, gadgets, whole constellations tuned without a whisper of
here and honey

and wholy
this “Made in Dreams”
said everything blown
phantasmagoric
­­
I laughed and lingered on softer space and sea.      You plugged in
frowns, mumbles, a fear of firsts and feathers that injures
as though to say something like cloud candy was insult to the far off sky

not the fencing (of the earth)
but silk embrace and sun-moons that siren and swallow in chanting chambers. “Feel free
to fade” (you ask who needs words)
I say let them fall always    on what is true and hold
that note         because there is no other       way.

Image credit NASA on The Commons