Robert Balun, Ritual

morning and time again
to fit teeth
back into face

repack burdens and secrets
let loose in the deluge of dreams

I look for a refrain
a place to hold meaning
a ritual to carry wreckage

processing inheritance
the electric strung muddled pink delta sky

the rigging of a great ship
its great masts

I swear I’m tumbling toward resolution

as the I slips into time’s
glittery blink

then dark

I swear I see better in the dim
and din

I’ll be fine tomorrow

when pebbles pour
from my mouth

call it the shape of the world
a lock or a key I keep—

this is the part where my teeth fall out

where I let go
inside the great commute

and the body cedes
its light one lumen
one moment spent
gone here

into the next

every day dissipates
each sound dissolves

this is a soothsay

listen to the water
boil the frog