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OPEN _level_sea____sail_away_with_me___
Run upwards into the air with knife sheaths in your skin
the aurora borealis is melting.
Hurl a dagger into the earth
and stretch the blade across
in patterns of haunting blue.
The exposed truffle vomits out
Ruby reds and emerald greens — quite creative toxins.
Gently introduce a blade to the moon
It has forbade that profuse, delicate force.
Tumbling down in
clinks
and
clanks
fall gemstones of celestial color so arresting
that they sparkle in an offset hue
to all but the content, flat observer
who listens to their collapse,
notices each shatter and successive mending,
breaths in resonance with gravity,
sees in that sparkling descent his own fickle patterns,
reaches out with incorporeal, blankety fingers,
offers a parachute, a trampoline, to still rebounding dreams
and sheaths one million knives
to fill his body bright with silver gleam.
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Only those who can confront natural phenomena with a level, humble head have any hope of making sense of things.