To cut where there is no resistance
is to eat a grape whole
special purple delivered
by juices by seeds by stem
To boil is to watch and look away
expected bubbles froth
over pot-edge to the burner
hedge and singe and gas unlit
To drift is to be of the rain
a wet, haphazard happiness
whose nouns do not frown
when teeth when eyebrows soak
To walk is to wallow
in slow air oceans
by vertical gravity pits
from peach from mine from soul
To pause is to hear without vibration
the whiffle of silent sphagnum
north sides, given to the individuals
of the forest of the mountain of the clock
To die is to live
shriek birth
ember
ash.
Roman Ryan 