Determined

The portrait of a portrait
winding the wounds up into the ball
they belong in
Stone by the side of the road
there would be the lip of a path
entering trees & other flowers\

Stalked
by a frame that is resisting
the moment in a body of water
cold running through
the stakes
& the morning blue changes to the orange
of older days

Then there was a piece
of the road left hanging by your mouth
the shoulder
sloping into another distance
another
open through the depth of an attempt
to be seen

Inching towards the minute
towards
a difference that cannot be made
same
& might have slept on
even in the growing green of the dark

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