pleading with permission

noting the differences,

between rain from the eyes

and tears from the sky,

between moods, 

finding physical movement

and nature 

finding the presence of weather.

for emotion is sometimes

standing in a sensory line,

feeling for the gravity of one's body to earth,

the sense of containment,

as in clothes upon the skin,

the imposition of sunlight warming

and the slightness of breeze,

excusing itself in passing.

are emotions a sight upon anything aware,

even as a bother?

as a listening 

so as a stealing from its source?

say from air extractions and thermal exchanges?

are the all of awareness 

as obligations to absorb?

is the physical so contractual?

and is experience ever the snitch?

is there ever a sense of minding

without a sense of orientation?

for what else makes meaning as a wick

so questionably relevant?

for I have dreams that are weightless

yet have many moving parts,

with scripts that hardly ever ink the page

and soundings that defy the capacity of whisper.

and narratives that do not expect memory's upload,

passage without identity at the cutting edge.

even without physicality 

having the need for stature,

I have whims without seduction or evidence,

just virginal pleads, 

dressed up as sun-rays unblemished, 

yet absorbing.

all of this, as audience that has never known 

of the seeds of indifference

or the sense of a self-imposed,

just now, the occasional 

coming home to breath . . .