Nourishing Wet System

When the moon rises in the afternoon no one can see it.
Separated from you by the bodies of our history, I try
to make it right. All my life I fall away from myself.

Soft - Colleen Louise Barry

There is a bridge in the distance. Already steam obscures it.
The people chatter, they wear blue and red jackets.
Possessions in hand, they leave their houses.

I do not posses a house. I am renting my space like a visitor
I am always leaving. I have a pale cream bag.
It holds rose-jelly and a cloud. My jacket has no sleeves.  
I lift my hand to my brow and imagine it is slender.

Beyond the bridge I know a soft and wild meadow. Two deer
make a bed there. In the morning the heat from their breathing
leaves the long stalks of earth bent and weeping.

All my life I see my life
reflected in glowing squares.
As it grows clear it obscures.
I check my iPhone
to see where I am.

The waistband of my pants
cuts a wheat field into my belly.
Still in bed the morning commuters’ red tail lights
lick it to make it grow.

This has been reality. This has been almost like a letter,
the word I mean.
The mistake was to begin without mentioning the ideas in it.