that quietly slides up and down
the oily sky, then gone
and there again.
maybe it's a prayer -
gently caressing the cheeks of capricious gods and
serving them nectar and honey and
blood and
heads.
maybe it's paper -
pregnant with words and
pictures that are not-
yet.
maybe it's may be.
or a shrug of the shoulders
or eyebrows raised.
a not, a not-yet, a yes
or maybe, may-be-not.
or perhaps, like chance -
leaping randomly,
without thought nor circumstance.
leaping from waking to dreaming
hopping from man to woman,
leaping from boy to girl
to real to imagined.
hopping and leaping on
shoulders, or suns, prayers
or papers.
or maybe, it's just chance
that we
Be at all.
