The limpness of a bird’s legs in flight.

The place, the question, the question. 

The place, the interest, the question.

There is the place.

There is what you do in the place.

There is your belief.

There is the faith in a knowing.

There is your instruction

by the gods.

There is your instruction as you are told.

There is your relief.

There is your disquiet.

There is your encounter.

That was it there.

Your encounter in the night.

Or before a flippant and loud

late afternoon sky.

A giant stone toe at the site of an ancient oracle.

There is the place.

What do you turn your face to in the name of instruction?

When you follow what the bells arrange

for the afternoon air

when you keep going

you’re laying on your path surprise

because the dress you are wearing is destiny

and you can like that or you can not like that.

I am talking about

will.

Everything matters and is nothing.

Ringlets carved in stone. Very physical.