A Motion of Order

The formal sequences of
captured randomness
are not for me a rose or
any flower.

I try to fill the nights with
the arrays for my
trembling,
stylized grasping for fire.

They would have me juxtapose
or they would have me order
my steps and in the
hollows my sounds.

Or I would have myself fill
it all with a quest for
order in the casting of
feathers and bones.

We have not found the true
way for a striving wind
to form and form
a musical stone.