Recurrence

A line is straight, and then
a line is straight, and then
a line
is straight. 

The sea broke,
foaming at a mouth
and the God of shape took that
the motion curve
so idolized in Japanese prints,
and set it atop a long, bending stalk- puffs in a half coil
unwinding and winding in the
relentless wind.
he called it something,
but the name of the grass
doesn't matter really.

Even names repeat- mine was
the most common in my birth year.
It is the only word that hopes to hold all of me
and it holds all of you as well. 

Two universes away, it holds all of you. 
Love will come again, I smooth the wrinkled sheets
because I can not look her in the eye. 
and it is something to do.
The matress squeaks, one spring creaks
She cries.  We all cry.  Love will come again. 

In my garden the flower trees bend the wood-
long wood, bending into a giant flower head.
Its perfume is the reason he loved you
and the rot in sea smell,
and me.  me can mean me every time it is said
regardless of the mouth. 

In your garden the flowers adorn the leafy trees, cut so well.
so well cut
by nature.
Those are the two gardens, and always will be.
The salt smell, the rot smell,
the sea
washes up sputtering
and recedes.

Again.

A line is straight, and then
a line is straight, and then
a line
is straight. 


-Citron