when the moon
is just the moon
on a night walk
seeing trees reach
not for the moon's
dust gray but what
gray cannot help
but reflect upon us:
a memory rooted
ever far within
of how the moon
must be

baggage accumulates
even as you shed it
after time, time after
time until nothing
separates you, clay
formed smooth by hands
spinning in warm water
wondering at the shape
the vessel never sees

all through the day
   at home
all through the night

there is a gamer
up on the wall or
propped on a table
their trials, brief
life snippets, victories
and defeats broadcast
as a constant background
radiation as i do what i do
knowing some many years
in distant yet intimate
two-way wide as imagination
flipped-switch neighborhood
cozy-home risk free streets

relaxing can be
a lot of work
   tensing
the bodymind
letting go
so much you
don't even know
what's left
is you - finding
your frame has
been propped up
by holding tight
   and releasing
almost a vertigo
wondering what bolts
will hold us up
now we are free