The Way

by Cliff Saunders

Need to melt my struggles
in the creases of this world.
Need to pick a hotspot
for my counting of swans.

It’s not wise to overlook
the lazy way shadows meet
under the influence of bereavement.

Need a perfect red before me
in its field of feather parasites.
Need a dance partner
for a spring shower in the woods.

Not gonna be the guy who gets
shafted by a fat thread. The purpose
of sleep? To forget, to fly untethered
in space like a whizzing balloon.

There is simply not another way.