Dandelions, approximate to love
And slow the stories alight upon tongues of our verbs
And wayward the staradjectives and collapsing algebra
And yet we go, there again, falling
Plunging through gained flight, no matter cracked and cold
Accordingly,
And there we go bruising and aloft
And song:
When he was a young boy, his father winged him through city
Weeded dandelioned to steel roses ivying up the walls of Christopher Steet--
My father took tugged me into the city
Kicking up cans where once we were a gangful of love and stories, tossed along the Hudson where
the stone learned to flower.
The bricked weeds to pollinate through a thin stem.
Let the worldworld learn to see
Let the dreamdream learn to breathe
From the photograph, removed thought from an image, buttoned underneath
the horizon like a finger of wet chicory ,
an error,
approximate to love
