By Michael Cadnum 

A ricochet,
she races, lingers,
hurries to be forgotten,
the single vowel of a teeming alphabet,
too small to carry meaning.
Privation and bright colors,

these are what stir the amber full-stop,
this fragment made of hunger.
Dawn too cool,
noon too hot, where is peace
for this searcher? The chapter is the same,
beginning and beginning,

another blossom with a secret nearly as sweet
as its promise.
Almost followed by almost,

she survives beyond knowledge.
Even her dance of distance and direction
is the gavotte of decimals learning a new
place among the zeroes, notes finding a new
high-point within the octave as she

zig-zags, color to color,
clover to fuchsia to sage
in the only daylight.

This poem is shared with the author’s permission. It first appeared in Commonweal, along with another poem from Michael, “Bee Swarm.” See more of Michael’s work at his website; follow him on Twitter @MichaelCadnum.