revision

sometimes poems get revised and become new poems or better ones. I do not know if I have put this here before but here is it revised. It is called

Undisclosure

I.

I raise my body from the couch and scrape the leftover oatmeal in my bowl

into the noisy aluminum waste bin

and notice the crumbs left on the shiny winter table

II.

In a dream I was invisible and therefore had the power to glide unseen through infinite aisles of a heavenly supermarket

to take what nourishment or luxury I wanted, unheeded.

Unheeded, not like in the way when you complain about being starved by your mother and they respond,

‘Oh honey, some day she will be your best friend’

unheeded, as in you can have as much as you want and no one will stop you, 

nor shame you for your profane need

III.

(when I married the first time it was because of 

the act of food as love,

it was as though I was full for the first time)

IV.

I did not have the vocabulary to tell

our story, then, 

or what portion of it was left for me to discern

to trace like finger prints upon a frosty window

or the breath caught in that place in your sternum,

just south of a full breath.

V.

be perfect in this one moment

allow the present to swell in your breast 

the moment being perfect itself

That is the lesson I have learned, that  

there is no wrong or right way to breathe,

no moral to the story, just the listening, and discerning,

and we are all already connected more than can ever be told with fragile homilies,

or removed with insane malice.