on sincerity

A night fire burning on a high, flat rock.

There is a coast and there are rocks on this coast.

Tending that fire

I trace my fractured readiness,

ill-prepared for abandon.

I want it to be steady and clear–two objects touching, leaving something with the other.

Wreckage, not.

The sun fields some sparrows.

Courage requires of us a lessening.

I haven’t been raised to be disappointed.

How, then, to avoid wreckage?

You are here with me, but I haven’t a clue how to alert you.

So jumps, so falls, so kneels.

How else are we to behave?

I trace  my fractured readiness

thinking words could be of some use but apparently it’s in the useless where meaning resides.

Like looking to a gaggle of helping verbs for action,

the given might as well be taken.

In the final sentence, I lift the cover and place the original face down on the glass.