Not to be Seen

Something seen not to be seen,
the voice drying on the rocks
or our cold autumnal heritage,
verbiage of bone or loneliness
swimming against the crowd.

We, we are endowed
with a brightness not to be seen
through cluttered eyes, reprise the roles
that once we stumbled into
when emotions went uncategorized,

uncatalogued, and a single moment
occupied miles. We renew our smiles
by degrees, before heaving them,
sufficiently fat, into the hot cauldron of desire
to simmer slow and impart their savor.

Let us not waver in our daylong stride.
Let us glide freely over feral waters.
Let our love sharpen,
our will not darken,
as we pursue our urgent course.

-r. miller

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