(Another word-per-minute attempt:)


now a sentence: stretch artfully
this neck, bottle, cupped pause
wherein a few astonishments are
cradled, held at bay while wetly
we wait, exuding anticipations not
precisely put, rather placed, set
in motion early to carry
songs once fixed in passing
cars over into that between
which holds chance to be
against beams (silence here, stuck
with beams) that aren't but
want to be about, turning
from the shape of a
thought into the things that
come to light: street, cup,
birch, secret, flock, still holding
it in abeyance that it
may abide, that thought suspended
while blue--hare's breath--slips
you crisply into one white
blank, a place at table
where it becomes clear that
these decisions will lead nowhere
but you'll make them anyway,
to keep in practice. Lines
like lids decide.