Psycho/somatic

One cannot

but surely,

make a heart

though, as with swift and unexpected

certainty

break one...

I've been dangerous;

but diligent.

The oddest of fields, that pulsing swarm

of lovers:

a field of crickets

crying out,

never in amorousity;

Time mixed with twain

and ashes of angels

scattered all around

contention,

consciousness,

uprooted on the ground

these are our fetted falls

heavy fruit, and

twine met with

sin

Only because

it was

meaningless.