there long again
a motion from me tightness

a good one fathered up
in a dim-lit photo

sunset circularly old
reaching farflungs but me,

fiberoptic meowing
the laugh of a parade

in the trajectory of ball-bearings 
packed in a suitcase

swans sank when you arrived,
doves rose into the nets of soupmakers

there are more than birds in my head but you
beneath the swans

your approach rustles
like bed sheets intimating air -

sweet bicycle's flexion,
your pooling navel

wrinkles from bedsheets,
fossils of sea-grass 

foreign phrase
drenched in King Arthur:

a gyante
thus asaylle and guyd riddence - 

so as I scrabble for a pencil
to trace your outline 

the eclipse of you 
burns through the white paper

like a cigarette's
penumbra of impending flame,

the black shadow
of a great bird

pouring through
me headlong into open world.