Trust Purposeless

what of this weight of
scattered plans, this inkblot living
sprayed as blotted wishes
across the cardboard space
of possibilities?

when did the fragments settle
into solid reef?
when did the starpoints realize
their whole pattern?

frostlings could freeze an ocean
if the waves slowed down
to let the cold in coverage link up

it’s not about the
wherenow or whatwhoms
in any how or purpose;
it’s not about which hands
first grasp that moon

it’s unhanding, releasing,
voiding, avoiding

it just is trust
collecting its nexus
in a handless, haveless becoming


(c) J. Celan Smith