Conversion with Fragmentary Interlude

Spring, then summer, decided next
to abandon the body.  Memory was made
as an endless necklace.  

     (Is this.  Could this     
          be.  Or is this before—   
         the sky the color of hipbone) 

Expression digested 
into message.  The wind 
takes licks at us until 
we’re knock-kneed and pinched 
against one another—then  
pulled back from the pause.  Inner freedom 

is released from practical desire— 
that lapse into accent.  With attention 
on your tension, make intent your mind on me. 
We move about the moving tree.

Time opens the lock-box as we step out
into our hairnet jeweled
with black sheep.