Words sit like doppelgangers of the true intention

for I know not, I can only guess

so this stage is one of misdirection, mistakes,

no sense in lying, a first kiss could have been a second

a fresh lens might be French bread

a fleeting fury of futile attempts to jot down the world

to honor the moment and the degree of presence presented

the preciousness of a floppy disc compared to pastel flower petals

and all that at the whims of my waxing heart,

with ears hard to hear, and mouth slow to speak

like Moses said to God, busy and distracted trying to find the leak or

the missing link between the hammer and the nail

the beginning and the end, the way through the desert

when I say the word dog, I can’t imagine we all imagine the same dog,

not even if I tell you it’s spotted, black and white and has a pink nose.

not even if I told you it’s name, it’s weight, that it’s carrying a red rose.

I’d like for you to see inside my mind, but you just can’t and that’s just fine,

and you sure as hell try.