it doesn’t make more sense now, does it?

better should be more blue.   shouldn’t it?   why then,
        this?

this this means more confusion.   more ambiguity.   more clamor.
        overcast was an open door.

there, there was a more peaceful quality before becoming more,
        more blue.

not to be mistaken for cormorants, for pelicans.   their flight is
        more tall than me.   more like swimming is.

although, to be honest, at first more blue, more bright, seemed
        like a good idea.   more so than more before.

        I made change my vocabulary.   standing watch.

yet what more me than only the more of me planted here?
        who attends?   where does the circle close?

I am.   I am more enamored, more color-struck, more convinced, more unsure, more afraid, more the same, more unconvinced, more two people inside of one, maybe three, more tranquil.   not surrendered yet.

really, I thought recovery would be something other, something more of less, than this is.
 
 
I can only now say what the mystics say.    we’ll see.

        more blue remains.     with or without me, more blue remains.
 
 
 
 

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