Yet

This is water
in my hands in the desert --
this is language in
its most basic form.
Red, raw, smooth
inverse infinities .

A trickle on the sand;
a line of glistening particles
stick to themselves
and it is ruined.
And it is small.

My hands lie limp,pouring out to the dry,
dry smut, until a puddle
of mud and water
lays out for the sunfish
to leap from
and leave their scales
darkening in the valleys.

The forbidden quickly
pulls away with a kiss
from the wind
and scrubs itself
clean on the clouds.

Tell me
what is in the center
of an axion

I... have a lot of work to do, from the inside of this "poem" out... #doubtingmyownworkFTW (because everything is Twitter after midnight, didn't ya' know?)