Vulnerability says

                                                                                           the silhouette of pines against midnight skyline

is spiked,
like any longing to escape.

Warning: World's edge shifts
as if with its own sentience.

Roll your tongue inside your mouth.
Sensations, not the edges, meet.

As if the worst thing you've done
is already forgiven—

the cool of this windowpane,
the blue of this china cup.

Strategy: Not giving it shape, but giving in to the shapes
you've become.

What should be kept, besides compassion for the vanity
of idea?

                                                                                                           Only the "coming to" in seeing—