these hours are
responsible
-for the monsters call
-for the
inflamed
knuckles
-for evenly distributed
grinding
sensations

these hours have
found us all
at the bottom of
the garden
plunging our hands
past the ice
past the frozen
layers of algae
until our eyes
are soaked blue
in sympathy with
the
sky

we
have no sense of
responsibility
or temperance
of anger
or
....

there is always
a sense of foreboding
left in suspension
before breaking
ice

a fear of
perfectly preserved
earth
and pivots
of perspective
that encompasses all
and leaves
trace elements
for future
paleontologists to
ponder

for
we are the disruption
points that can only
be accounted for
in the revelation of
greater
distribution
structures