If I could circumnavigate the problem. 
My eyes would amongst obscurity of the forest fell
- rush through the shadows puppetry pine needles and leaf fronds 
Out of focus, rambling forward, the squid ink syllables would grip the glare of page and white space.
Invoking a trace of loss.
I would breathe the gulp of absinthe within my tide filled bronchus. 
Under this full lunar time.
I would film stars in pylons shooting the lethargy of parabolic light to relieve your inertia. 
I would play the hum of lament, a fiddle and an opera voiced image - harp plucked across no melody. 
May the white wind dance, may the fiddlers footing show her. 
May the rhetoric seethe. 

If I could circumnavigate the crowds into my own empty auditorium.
I would hold all I love inside my belly tightly, 
where no daggers could gleam, or, 
release a whispered cessation of argument unheard by apron strings or empty kitchens. 
If I could envelope all thought into page - lost by tactile velvet – remain. 
Show your dot to dot freckles, hold up your crystalline salted cheeks and drying eyes. 
Pause the heart race and beat, and break the semi-quavered lip that lacks voice and directional breath 
Let a multitude and verisimilitude of coloured paint drip over my visage. 
Rip up your bed and catapult the springs, safe from a lack of what cannot be dreamt.
Only infinite footsteps would be heard, this heather-lined pictorial that spans capacity. 

If I could circumnavigate the problem,
I would see from all angles I cannot reach.

If I could circumnavigate the problem.
I would write clearly.
And speak back the enunciated gasp of life.
I could circumnavigate.
The problem, was my own.