Place-Holders

Hypotheses? Place-holders. This:

those seemingly inarguably accurate

and weightless shots that scheme

to capture bliss, do catch a little grace, 

then fall through space like boulders

in an avalanche, or fade to mist. Root

leads to tree and branch which holds

a fruit which if not plucked to eat, will drop

to rot – but eat or not, will rot. Conjectures

breed from every seed and sometimes

bloom – then bleed to death (the destiny

of every thought and breath): clearing

room for cunning new hypotheses –

perhaps, in fact, my little buttercup

(if fact there'll ever be), to wait for God

or you or me to sneeze another up.

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