Song of the Most Imperfect Word -- Lisa Bourbeau

First: skin for leaning into, at least
there is that.... & these eyes,
        throat on the edge,
prayers spent like coins at the river crossing, arrival all
dizzying height, and somewhere a slight rent
                in the fabric of --

Will it serve, do you think, to buttonhole
all that terrible,
     indistinct passion? When scatterings,
& the as yet undisclosed
unifying principal
the body of - or rain on maple leaves, and
rain the body of, and

...wings that heal wounds, sprout
the unruliness of ruffling;

& because the forests, plucked of long bones,
almost exhausted
your mostly lifted offering...

...a crooked stem
    winding toward
& hooking in
        the god of
last resort         :as well --

that which has been displaced by
    windchimes, or
aftershock each bell clapped
is gifted with...mostly .
    The urgency
in finding I will call you this -- parable, Pleiades,
    spindle... white become verb,
approaching , while always in your arms
                horizon song
cut to the inexactness of conviction
like the bony cry
     of the flashiest
last red-winged blackbird
exiting.