two chords, hooked into my skin
like a Sundance under the moon
pulling gently back and forth
between memories of
varying, disparate lives
extracting water, leaving vapor
clairvoyance between asymmetrical
like shedding snakeskin,
there is still a trace, the immensity
of the sun drives you on,
because it’s harrowing to look back,
but when you get a glimpse
from a standstill: calm. resolve.
melancholy for those who look away.
there is nothing ugly here.