When asleep I trusted you
not to run off with the first
 
ecologist; to relinquish doubt
and watch over me languishing

like a mediocre gimp when
your prints are what actively

marked my broken instruments
detecting half-tones between

land and ocean. Gray patches
spread and actions conducted

relieved in a sense with a nostalgic
piece of lint placed in a bell-jar

and titled Snowstorm from our
Window on Union Street. Unable

to return home, sadness can
be transformed into self interest

others admire while away from me
on this side of the mountain

I didn’t feel the seismic activity
sometimes shaking, aloof to

consent and displacing ground.
When asleep waves move through

the earth’s crust. Let’s not make
any more of it, the dangerous

applications to a private life,
various stakeholders affected.

Take it easy, even the scientific
method is subjective and

temporary.  Apparently, we are
born this way, operating at a loss

over the course of a night, over
the course of a single sleep,

a procedure replays corridor
gossip, household knowledge

and signals are interrupted
and we wake with a zeal to study

honeybees and the altering climate.
Henceforth I blame you for the

ka-bang, the new restlessness,  
the rush for gold in due course

degraded in form. Let’s not make
much more of lost time

compressed. It is impossible
to record. As to the measure

of martyrdom or myth, a hunger
whorishly uncontrolled defeats

itself into loving like a whore.
I’m not supposed to talk. But

I could have, should have, and will.