Let’s leave the leavening
out the way of harm,
an arm to candle us to victory
should shadows surpass.
Like the open mouth of an underpass,
we welcome all the sleeping detritus
who would seek us.
In cellular rains, we tweak
and become dangerous,
dissolving in the distance
between point A and the sky.
I’m turning on my axes to grind,
finding a task in coping.
I’m burning cultured kief
in an effort to maintain hoping.
Sudden air of alacrity
rushes through once withering lungs.
This we can encapsulate.

-r. miller

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