"I gaze into the high gloss of the gleaming looking-glass
until my vision blurs."
—Michelle Greenblatt
When I'm silent my stare is an intense configuration of moisture. An afterward rendition of building blend between clarity and the blur of silence wandering into my eyes' focal
connectivity. Today a vocal rhythm drives my freedom and selective interpretations. Farness is distance's collaboration with foolery and the fondness to touch beyond the reaching syllables
of Lyric's cultivated shortness. In asking: Where does language instill departure from the singing virtue of introspection? This is when the vision blurs: among noon's dexterous alphabet, containing prophecy of splayed dispositions: each behavior is the predication of damp examples of flame's failure beyond the relooking toward breath and the sequence of existence.
within music light/leans the skeleton
breaches the whole interpretation of autonomous explanation
where is the value somewhere it
dangles
a misread liaison to unhear the contouring
sound of need and the
permission significance incurs amid the omission of tongu-sounds
gradating tribute to the isolated fulcrum throats struggle
to induce and accommodate conclusion collocating
life in the aspectual birth of need and
conformation toward
the body and building each entity
in the silence of
language's interrelated fathoms
[Author's Note:] Michelle's kindness was a gift to many. To me. Her encouragement is an etched part of my identity as a poet. I had the honor of publishing her work in my online journals Counterexample Poetics and Of/with. Her ASHES AND SEEDS is a masterful volume of poetry, and the poem I've written for her is directly influenced by a line from that collection. She is missed.
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