Unfolding Memory

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.

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