I’ve held this
smallest forest
sticky with sap
haptic branches swaying
in nonce wind—
a syntax
outside the frame
of the visible—
and longed to be struck
as I should
to say I’ve loved
It’s no small thing
Let each eye
be believed
the way cicadas leave
clinging skins
split to drone
umbra’s grass
Let matter rest
in belief
it has lent itself
to all our purposes
liminal and image
the way veronica is
a flower
a girl watching
a matador
wave his cape
over charging eyes—
each only once
given one
of matter’s many
possible nouns
Let each pass by
picture
difference
or surprise
In that still space
we won’t stop
finding and losing
what we love
all day
we’ll keep on
thinking
because it once existed
it still exists
very arbor very body
very smoke
-Brian Teare
