A laurel of sparkled charge
orbit this pauper’s brow


to point orient
and remove all doubt of being found lost
and wanting


a curse of clarity
momentarily
struck into a smashed bliss

I have forgotten my name
and hover circumstance
I can only think
of where I am

and it under some unchained compass
around here and there
situated in a bright circle

and only a lover’s face
arrived to these parts
budging we to awake

and continue a week’s labour
of so many appointments
and so many forms
to be filled out

and to dream of something
to work to a common way
of talking where my honest ache
allows for homecoming and her very
fond questionings about the time spent
and our hours saved.