I.
Time. the currents are mothers in memories, river
backwards rusty and pure
like inedible fruit, a vanitas
sort of

II.
Thing. dead poets arewere saccades,
what is a word while it lives?
the shadow of a bird
larger and swooping,
a shell-like-vacant-time screeching
inas a tree
kind of

III.
Life. and creep streamlike
into the mind ripples, ravine
forwards chantless green (antique)
and breathless (singer)
like those sinking thoughts
what’s the meaning of
kind of

IV.
Thoughts.