Sunday, October 24, 2010

one year with no umbrella

one year with no umbrella meant
cold sadness smearing the frames
of my arms rolling 
down the window of my chest
“i know that you can see through me, you
i thought i was stained glass wrought
animate by ironic misfired gift
i thought of choking hands i thought
of kissing car windows 
i dreamt and could not keep
from dreaming,
there, that is where he was beat 
with the fishing-pole
sleep was cruel and so too was
his wake
and every bit to do with
being awake
snakes don’t like the rain
they say 
they were cast out of my homeland
they met the ocean 
became kelp

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