Time can unnerve, trepidation can amend. That is the Optique-the weight of foreshadowed impulse overturning an operatic note of sanctum -flapping haphazardly-like a deck of cards shuffled at the circular edge of a turnstile door-bent backs leaping-crispness filleted- the beige carboard pulled open and upward as if an elastic harness was working off a debt to the circus maker’s arm- past the cold lips and fluttering shawls that cede a templed vanity, plucky audibles amidst the romance of a tranquil storm, robbers lying in a ransacked bed. I am short, shuffle my feet and am kingmaker to all chords, laborers to spark and octave. Often, I am asked why being passed over by laughter is more akin to unflattering libation-a polite, but unaged vinegar swooshing with bouts of an acidic staging, followed by a steep scarp that flattens hairs until the sky sweeps the sand-and the cigars ash as we start our walk towards homerooms in a wet, leafy Autumn remand. I suppose the abnormal processing of events that shape my tendencies to oppose revelatory orders are much more impactful than the hardy buds that roll the graves-we graze until crumpled and sore, yet hauling more freight than railways can confirm-busted double bags or straps secured by a shined, divergent floor. In a more deserving passageway, I was hauled out past the chalky blue waters that lined the boardy cupboards of where I preferred to roam. In the chilled, dark green- a mattress of bubbles breaks the twisting glare-where the once fluorescent hinges that were now pale and rudderless wait for cover and color leaving the midnight offering full and the slippery handles ornamental- a high curtain blocking the cane from leading a reading without the spittle to spare. And then you were running, not for candidacy but for conscriptive art-a muted vine touched up by a swirling arc. I, flip-flopping on the issue of entitlement- who was the beneficiary of letting the dreams peter out? Still, blackened whines are a destiny that changes outfits-even when the invitation shares the details of being passed over as a convenient lout. You were the exception-yellow eyed and over playing the laughter that binds the snacks to the fifth course, but yet, the strong right angles of wrist to elbow, bicep to upper arm-never drooped or never raised. I bet you never gave yourself credit for that run. Quite the achievement, when all I could do was roll on through the disappointments that included late night feedings and eclectic vagrancies beyond what my streetside tribe had pinned and what the Taurus had fetched at the heavenly emporium. Equitable chart, equal parts, libations flavoring sorrows with an unstirred broth of credible guilt and humorous shame. But at least my blame plucked the waves, driving foam further and further out to sea, without the contrast, yellow would never need me- the floating pull was apologetic, yet underwater weeds need not apologize-a swaying relation to a new deck’s painted smell, and yet the tipped edge on ancestry and anecdote always goes unnoticed. In those moments, the sun saves its most interesting questions for the brightest who earn their time far away from the dress socks at the shore. Are you amicable to blunders dressed down as a series of suited coincidences- as innocent as a shortened whisker found inside the melting cubes of a root beer lemonade? In the shade there are only interchangeable marks for me and you-the lore and hymns as made-up as a horizon pressed into action on a gambler’s returning ship- a dismissal- an intervention-with partial terms of prejudice- a private shopper in a fitting room where nothing fits, but the hanger in the hems. The piped gems never shuffle with full conviction, nor curse the first row of pews for bumpy luck. If you listen closely, the rhythmic scheme is closer than what the whispers give away. Maybe you will never need to anchor the entire, privileged swim, still no matter the course of last resort, nothing will ever be explained as accidental retort, but if you promise to dip your toes, uncurled from time to time, patience is the opportunity to partner and re-praise. Without the upward draft, consternation is merely an entryway amongst the nerviest of friends-a clown’s limerence- a paradigm easily reshuffled- back inside the invisible wood-one would get to be Italian.