chiasma

 

find a word, a way

through, latent

 

developer of sentiment.

the chemical that courses

 

through divides also

the negative. the visual

 

radial like primary

colors. crystal.

 

inversed, the word

all but breaks

 

the shadow not

yet image, door, gate—

 

now taste the tea. a gape

in your mouth. sediment.

 

sense a lie. dear one, I

thought all in prisms.

 

still, they don’t show up

here. amiss, I turn

 

in turn. nothing

but sky.

 

*previous version of this poem published in Unlikely Stories