subterranean heaven dance

it is in a way

complex and what is

the effect of this

that words

are just a special type

of memory and memory seems

sometimes a private land

but if

you do not achieve

your dreams at least know dreams

you do not choose

and that is why they are so likely

to go their way and leave

a hand sliding out of yours feeling

cognizance is an imaginary ordinary

an island off the slippery horizon

and these words i share

i have stowed, seedlings, in the hull

brought to light upon endless sea

i will try planting in another land, who knows

they may do nothing or overrun the place

as i have been myself

overrun

but listen, when the rain

washes down the air and gives everything

to the soil and is rooted gently from the clotted earth

tell me, can heaven be

finally the seeing

of these things entwined in their

subterranean dance

to know what lies beneath this life?