Gatherings

by Jefferson Hansen

Tongue to upper teeth
sounding the grain
of violent flurries

My arms are too short
to gather your gatherings

Where do you go
in the center of the
day when the theorems
crash quietly with
your noise on a
brittle floor

I am mostly
outside my hands

We scatter luminously
even before birth

Will I die a knot
of images
of pains
of cathected instrumentation
somewhere in your
bungling bundling process,
specific and specifically human

An angle of you
tumbling out of my reach

Not able to perceive
the phenomenon of 'how'

You coo to the lion
during a Chinese
New Year's festival
Was it the eyelashes
saying a brood strikes
the heart of calm

Ancient, swollen trails
always again forgotten