There is No Telos

it’s been said
there is no telos
& so,
would it not be
easier if
we let the leaves
speak for themselves
through the shimmer of
white wine light
cloven
to the negative
space
between
leathered branches

would it not be
easier if
we reinvest our trust
in water,
that patient carver
in cahoots with Time,
always finding a away
around & through
the hard places,
cooling
private sulphuric
infernos
that cause skin to erupt,
& nerve endings
to burn

it’s been said
there is no telos
& so,
the earth’s utterance
of fire is directionless,
combustive, & yes,
to some degree
communicative —

but to what end?

a word, a world

good morning, downpour
so thoughtful of you to be pouring (again)
i know it’s your maritime default setting, still
it’s the thought that counts &
every thought contains a word
every word contains a world
every world contains another world
& a gravel road & rain
to confirm the words of the world

some days are so grey
I put on a little lipstick
to confirm my existence
in the world
lipstick, the word
is an antecedent to thought
supplemented by flesh made bread
garnished by caraway seeds
that get stuck in your teeth &
each seed a possible world
each possible world a world of flesh
lips flapping, mouths mouthing
a man-made mnemonic device
in service of the divine

recall that long walk we took
we had a very nice time
(that rainy Sunday afternoon)
I wore lipstick
we started seeing more of each other after that

recall the pastel
visions you had
of a gazelle & me & an archer
in the woodlands
the arrow shot as a reminder of
the existence in words
the existence of worlds
the existence of words in the world
& our exacting existence in it