There is an empire in echolocation
a riccochet off an object that you are not
believed to be hunting for in your dress.
When training for distance, you speak
too fastly of what is at hand. Dissolution
in the materials. In the fiber of being quick.
Let us march to where we'll be heard
and someone will listen. This is not a defense.
Rather, we reclaim the spot we stumbled.
Sisters in their homes and citizens in their homes
and I am so far from everyone I love.
All our provisions wasted on the dull witted.
The golden children by the creek, in awe
of reckless waterfowl, instinctually clear
that I call to them daily. A toy ship.
A bow and arrow. A shovel and saw.
Assembled into the ordinary clamor of boyhood
I am twice familiar with. Here I stake my claim.
Here I plant only one seed, my only failure.
A little life sometimes overwhelms us and we falter.
Tintern Abbey never appeared in the body.