Falling deep into a knotty tree hole,
I careen the universe with its queer equations;
a necessary birth, a leap of particle faith.
Don’t try to make sense.
What is known is not apprehended,
What is not known is not apprehended.
January moonlight I skate.
March eclipse unearths me to me.
July star, my paramour’s kiss.
Nobody asks what I do.
Nobody asks who I am. Thank you.
The owl hoots.
Senses by Kate McNairy