Bill Berkson
Tango
for Liz RidealMaybe we need another word for nature
would chaos do
largely friendly lately it has been a confidant
up there with actuality, another word that insists on being
all leaves and unfigure-out-able turnings
a fork holds up the air sky
its trident mirror image jabs over eons into the
deep dark snuggle
That wanderer’s length is a bird-colored
click on deliquescence
shave off the finer hairs
you might find a face
dismissive of skepticism
an opaque residue
where fibers lunch on
circular bugs, or vice versa, affinity, figure and ground
coterminous with
a sapling dressed to the nines to dissemble
launching a lecture or panel discussion
on troubled paradise
lightning strikes but once, from the ground up
I like to sit in its lap
the stellar urgency of this life
actual in less than date and time