[Untitled], by J. Michael Martinez

Imagine—in front of us—they silently pass. And they believe unrelated
objects are machines
for recognizing the human. And, again, we are no longer interruptions.

Imagine—in front of us—the beginning is not a study. And they believe
the cicada’s larva
reveals narrow secrets. And we accompany: to form, to shape.

Imagine—in front of us—a beautiful garden. And they believe color is the
shoreline’s end
where we abandon our too sudden bodies. And, here, we are carriers of different
significance.

Imagine—in front of us—each word devolves a lexicon. And they believe
shape shuts on a hinge
within the voice they fable. And, here, we slaughter the spring lambs.

Imagine—in front of us—they pass us between nature, between history.
And they believe the door
frame alters the curtains’ flow. And we are a dark summer moving against oceans.

Imagine starlings circling in a postcard’s blue. And they believe oration is the living
thing, the end
of geometric space. And here, in full sunlight, we are gifts hoisted to the vanishing
point.

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Meister Eckhart’s Sermon on Flowers and the Philosopher’s Reply, by J. Michael Martinez

A hollowed singularity exists in flowers
like pathos in a dandelion:
an eddy of fate, degreeless,

silvering through memory.
A scabbed consonant departing
the sentence: locust petal, bromeliad,

a surfacing shame, lightless, beyond hearing.
Solitary, the clock circumvents sound
and a horse importunes

a wasp bowing before significance.

It is in fact doubtless a wasp bows before significance
degreeless in a dandelion.

It also stands to reason that, in a clock, locusts circumvent memory
in order to depart through fate.

And anyone can see that singularity exists lightless
like an eddy of pathos surfacing beyond hearing.

In conclusion, however solitary
(and you know this as well as I),

a consonant will always
depart the sentence before shamed by a horse.