It takes a lot of ink to sound like calligraphy,
Enough to pave the road to here and there and
Asymmetrically, reluctantly back. Following
A caramel moon canoeing in-and-out of clouds.
On twenty-seven more occasions I will swear I have never
Seen the moon that color.
The constellation Hercules push-pinned to the sky,
Safer than every airplane ever mistaken for something
Constantly fixed. Everything only constantly fixed to
Anything that ever got lost in the crease of a letter.
Every insecure without-teeth smile,
Every Lenten fish sandwich bought
To appease false security.
In the lack of finding a fixed
Point to orbit around,
In the blame of
Incongruence in the alignment
Of the reason that came before
Fate is an inversed factor tree,
Narrowing the margin for error
With every risk closer to purpose.