Tuesday, December 9, 2014

I and II


I see the fragile, missing aspect
like a vanished rib.

“These things can be
by long drive
by the estuary or

The body of the beloved
is disrupted
by a rock cast on water.
It goes all wavy.

And we were not milkfed.
I was fed on plum brandy,
you on engine oil.

That we have gas in our tanks
to reach the coast
is boon enough.

That we grappled
to the last-
I’m so impressed-

so impressed by the unwavering stars,
the prevalence of field,

by all you’ve collected
beneath your fingernails.

I’m so impressed
by our earthly grace
in the face of hard time.

I hardly know how to put it-
I’ll stuff this in a cinnamon box,
and send it on its way.


Sometimes all you know
are your quantitative fears,
stacked like a cairn.

Or you wake from a dream,
wildly loving

the face you found framed
by the snow
of sleep-

Sometimes you cry in the car.

And I dedicate this song to you, like
a bench with a name on it.

Hands decimated could rest now,
rest in the tidal pool of my dream,

almost as if home.

Mostly I don’t think of home,
because it carries on without me

but I lost it
and then noticed it was gone.

Softer times allow for gentler pains,
stung by nettles, stepped on a hive.

But you were caught on barbed wire,
stepped on knives.

We both of us have known the mine shaft
too well.

If a heart is a nautilus,
it makes me want things.

Long drives, drive
in a warm den of silence.
Spit memories into the west wind.

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