band of clouds dripping into the red eye of the sun
below, ribbons of water slide across the earth
slipping through my fingers.
If I could lace the rivers together
into a ladder or a net,
I would fish the towns for sleeping people
who would climb or drown
or scuttle away from my grasp.
And when I have sewn them together
waves covering their bodies
and currents piercing their limbs,
I will bring them to you.
A fresh offering, my new
fish net bones
to put in your tangled hair.
And you would lasso the nearest wind
like you said you would,
and carry yourself away on the legs of many people
while I sang my speckled lovesong to you
light and loose and long
over the trees
Heather says, we are nothing more than a walking range of emotions
but I lie.
I only wish I had a reference to pad his silent crossing
back and forth across the living room
wrapping the telephone cord round and round his wrist in a curly knot.
I know he is talking to someone I shouldn't know about
But I'm enjoying this.
And watching the steam rise from my skillet
of stir-fried chicken and vegetables.
I like how the glossy meat shrinks from the heat
juices dribbling from the muscles
leaving bare honest chunks
that roll so tenderly
in my mouth.
Saw your woman the other day
wearing my shirt with a colored bra.
Just the way you like it.
A white v-neck t-shirt steeped in my fathers love
that used to protect me from your fears.
She shivered as I passed
it was a gift, to me.
The passage of my soul into her skin.
In the pit of my arm I carry remnants of you
which I collected while you slept.
The light shifting of your foot all night like a baby listening to a clock
your shadow, pencil thin and folded in quarters
that used to trail behind you reluctantly
as if it were always departing from dear friends.
It crawls out sometimes and sits at the table
spooning enormous amounts of food
then moves to the window and stares up at the water towers
smoking and brooding, pointing a sharp profile against the sky.
I try not to disturb it, for fear
that any sudden move would paste it to the wall.
Until it turns to me and throws
the deep vibration of your voice
sending ripples through my skin.
I always understand, and never respond.
It comes out sometimes at night while I sleep
stretches its length across the bed
the spicy dusky scent of you
winding into dreams of endless flight.