The Flight

Scribbling on paper my day goes,
Goes forth to a closure,
Departs from disclosure
Of paths clear, to where
My heart waits for me.

Will be noble,
Will be noble,
Will be noble today,
I sound out my breath,
All trailing in slow-motion, inaudible whiffs.
This riotlessness, this distortion of bliss,
These measured steps
Belong to another now,
She lies underneath the quietness,
No more vivacious than quietness
Itself.
I have poked her with sticks
Just to see if her peace
Is solid, and now further and further
I flee from where she rests.

Cross out the scripture of logic,
Unleash the noise,
Bring on the horns,
Their salute fuels my motion,
Be it soft grass or thorns…