It’s the complexity I crave,
this mix of crumble, sticky, bittersweet,
tongue hiking around among textures,
tilting a bit with each step. I wish
to shrug off logic like a backpack,
feel my leisurely way
toward sleep, a cool, moss-laden
hollow in the cliff behind a waterfall:
thousands of pouring voices, braided,
shaggy, impossible to pick apart.
