I tap, tap on the phone, a fly buzzing on a window, wanting out. I want into—coinciding.
The baby born, the baby toddles. Feels the totter of a rolling world, her every step a coinciding.
The baby born, the baby toddles. Feels the totter of a rolling world, her every step a coinciding.
The lovers feel not a body, his or hers, but a blood-corridor crossing in between.
A passage made kaleidoscopic. Mirrors with mirrors, coinciding.
The aging know it. Bound in a dense contract are mind and body.
One stroke, and it’s burst asunder, as if mind and body: but a passing coinciding.
In a burst of chaos, all the universe came to be. A cosmic tide leaving enclaves
Of the orderly: a sun, planets, whirling in their living rockpools. Order and Chaos coinciding.
From a bus window, the widower sees an ugly sweep of suburb passing. In the distance,
The line of mountains falls and rises, with the knell of a belfry coinciding.
I too, the Moon’s Friend, am incidental. In the diamond of a fence, a sparrow perching.
A harried mind that holds fast by twig-feet—with all the world, narrowly coinciding.