fragile nimbus, near nirvana almost, almost spellbound to recollected cynosure, a certainty; I feel the still birth of a poet's nostalgia, allow proudly-stacked pabulum to shield as much to guide this inclination to wander/ wonder through words and lessons learned, in spite of. keeping wonder enough to weave and whelve the penetralia through and into indelible, ineffable ink-soaked pages turning, turning toward antiquity, until. night and day and spell all break mid-sentence, with your discovery where I am most vulnerable to an (almost) undoing. and you might unfold me effortlessly, if not often still. I cannot bear to watch you so aimlessly wonder/ wander my meanings -- I fold back into myself, as always as neither of us speak ever our intentions. -B.