Leveler Poetry Journal
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from Have the Hands Ask it Back

I’m aware of the new reply, differences between early and later starts to the day.  A greater sense of rousing—ducks tucked into little patterns, distant flock of urban matters.  I am here and alone, sharing.  The hawk doesn’t come around.  The hummingbird pipped as if a punctured balloon, zipping away.  Property as it belongs.  We look in on more private things than we know.  With a Palomino I am let into any field.  Each willow lisps the morning over and after noon we calibrate a point of view, to rows a farm knows.  I was gentle with hate.  I am sorry for belittling the things around me in youth.  Sun collects in canoes.  The canoe as object, the sun helps to make our move in the object the image all along.  That what we trust ourselves in while moving, the Palomino, the boat, the bog, becomes the completion of the image and after being looked at.  Still things remain.  Often the path is ordinary but disordered.  My looking turned into a hand demanding.

Tyler Flynn Dorholt