paradise was;

white we are, to white returning
and pecked lines grew into form, forgiven over-eager punctuation
and the melody fell as if governed by letter-gravity,
no attention to 'humanely'- no humanity in white sorts of attention,
and the moments of tidal hush,
about the arc of an earth
flux

plural we are, to plural returning
and pressing for the particulars of hunger
we have counted on this wilderness,
amidst arrivals and departures and ill-footed landings,
when everyone cries 'aberration' or other lazy branding,
we have counted on this wilderness

there is a slow emerging theme;
one I console,
until
It is always strange, always home

paradise we are, to paradise returning