R/ckets and S/ntries

a final blanking
tenderly, quest ocean
officiates, rounded
Bach proves somewhat
or a ghost
guessing, previous
indeed, there is a
cleric march
in the rhythm ward, words
strain panning, visited
sites crawl
with capacity and
someone dies
in minute and telling, but
ashes give off cigarettes
and cinders make
volcanoes,
once there was a
house, once a land and
once a might of nations
pronged on something,
then the dead
march, which tells us
resilience
and the end of the
week, tomorrow
is an effort
sometimes, the weird
vagaries that trouble or
doubt so that
ambition makes
community
or the parting
question, is this
poetry for a
world and more?
the rattling
of breath or of
sabres resonates
cleanly, we're all
spanking new,
whatever that might
mean:
at least there's
a start
in the calendar
event