Bending the line of a progression
into a curve is a discipline I observe wind inscribe
in cypress on the seacoast.
A perfected balance achieved in sleep
can sometimes twist up through wakefulness
its delicate wire and weight contraption.
A faceless distraction is noisily prowling
the rooms in my mirror
I’d already set in order.
Watching a stray leaf on the lawn
until the weight of its meaning as an object falls
through my attention and disappears.