roadtrip (may 2011)

that faint syllable
put us together
in the solitude
of a soundstruck silence
on the road

and line by state line
he tries to pull close
that flicker of fire
draw a circle around the wind
and put a price on
the paper and penmarks
of heartbeats and candles

lovely, she said
or it was imagined
a rustle of vocal cords
or cloth and stitching
familiar, cool
let's go

so, let's
and he says
that I swear to know
how to dance
and be a dancer
while feet are both left
over and over
my sternest desire
are right

with silent frenzy
let's
hit that road
and run for thousands of miles on the water
let's
twist the turnpike
deep in the wood
where we forget we have names
and each rainshaking arbour
says his own

this isn't even what it appears
and doesn't come close
to the balcony breeze
that flicks eyes closed
and trails on
that great bird floor
over the sea and see
to a time and place
permanent, immobile
and temporarily everyhere

let's
talk in whispers
until we can't hear anything else
and the day's events are a series of firepits
let's
be so silent
that we can't hear anything else
that we forget our noisynames
and fall back asleep

he swears up and down
in the coldwrapped halo of the air
that I don't know how to sing
but every drop of that quiet
whistles out another to another
let's
go

and she says
in a rustle of leaves
let's

prememory (may 2011)

leatherbound crush.
I want to tell you something
let it kick down the stairs
and rattle on the floor
for a few more generations.

mossy. that was the word
or at least the closest
to describe that air
or light
that crept in
billowed the shadows
and cast curtains in the sunsoaked room

things were a little hectic
and slower that the long growth
of a cedar sapling
seemed those scant seconds
when I left the room
for a refill of coffee
to keep my eyes open on you
for every moment of your surprise

and that's what it was, I think,
a surprise,
when men first looked out to the sky
peered with their telescopes
to listen to that great black song of night
and shivered and shrugged
back to their palaces and beds
confused, small
and full of wonder

see, in that, there's something,
if I can call it how it feels,
the root of language,
humming in that great chasm
a dark hunger to call out
and touch something
to say: "Hello.
This is me.
Here I am.
Hello."

it all seems pretty big, I know
but, caffeinated, I saw you again
and it's all small stuff
when there's rain rattling the window
and cats sitting in the yard.

and while that great abyss
can wheel and wend
I looked down and saw
that this tiny fragility
that I can hold in my arms
is bigger than the universe
holds every star, galaxy
nebula, quasar
hypergiant and subatom
and yet
is here, asleep in my living room
minuscule against the great cave of the sky.
and every leaf-strewn sidewalk,
crying out for puddles
or grass-shot cobblestone,
begging for a slow walk
or windwarped branch,
scratching at the out of reach clouds,
can't come close
can't cross that great starry plain
to how beautiful you are

and these things are facts.

and I can only call out
into that great brimming void
to make sure you know
just how real you are
in the dust-bright
light-choked thought
of one afternoon in summer

Oh you are gorgeous
you are gorgeous
you are
you are
you are
oh yes you are
hello
hello
aren't you beautiful
you are
you are
hello
hello
Hello.