the imperfection of the green bottle
is more precise than any words 
to describe it

the contents 
of the bottle 
shake just enough 
to make waves in my mind
albeit how tiny

I throw thoughts like darts
from my bullseye-out 
to any errant arc

aren't we the pair,
I and my thoughts and I!

I stroke the cord,
they relax, collapse 
into a coil
to better reel them in

to feel them
in total dark
to discern shapes
(any form will do) to exit 
the nil 

we revel
at the wet 

and ride the tide home
in free-fall , asleep back-to-back
with nowhere to go 
now but forward

would you like
the green bottle?

hold it without word,
scream it with no sound,
keep the shards should it one day 
fall and break

be careful
the cuts

cc: Chagall 2021