Promise

Abstract

When the coax of a cloudy day finally claims the hills wholly, and we are all but creatures of cold gray awaiting incarnation as dew When the cushion of trees, closed-eye green accepts the last concerns of birds and the chittering that seems the work of spaces becomes fingerless When the intermittent roar of machines settles into a flat hum, and their wheels press all animals into the roads, into gray paper into flakes of road When you are less than your eyes, your manner and your smoke I could never finish drinking when you melt into ghost waters, jungle tales occasions of inkling Then I will.