Cello (Formula Poem)

The strings of weave, final and emerging--

crane-coiling-- (^

I know your music;

I feature the shut it disperses to meet.

Me to shape with paper twisted,

tension in sleep;

Me to see yet free, and I swear silken--

breath I roll plain to strain door locks.

I note fingers in the memory;

I name strings

as I and anonymous meet.

I am side-followed, a draw that's easing.

I, the familiar scent of apart;

I reach for tendons and body-- 

so hear delusion dimensions

and my shoulders close.

Know I am

when our sheets tighten--

we became your outer and quickly learned air

            carried between creases and folds.

You a heat I discern as striving,

and where blossoms focus I wander

as a one-and-convinced forget,

until we stand near to plains--

                                      
                                          entrance doors. 

This natural 

                      standing between,

                                                    that inner between us

and what lingers where I can't descend--

my too-present vibrating sides fastened elegantly.

(Winter 2010)