there are more shoulderblades now, yes//
in the early light of the morning there is nothing but the thick smell of sleep and the
anticipation of another day.

when i am not waking in a wirecloud of rebecca's black black hair
i am gathered in groups of laughing and missing teeth, and later,
beer// they and i are finite pinpricks of light against a sky, or
bicycle docks and grocery trips where i can now only buy
what i can carry.

we have become one another in this time.

there are places of comfort:
other things have come and gone, but we will remember
the understatement of a crumpled napkin,
bread wrapped and rewrapped in a glass cake server, or the
chipped tile in her kitchen,,
the bottle opener that dangles from a single screw.

i thought of corey's big hands,
or, i thought of her choice in curtains.

it was the same, for now.
but things will always change.

06/05/2007

Author's Note: draft ii. names seem so hostile in poems. i do not know if they will stay.

Posted on 06/05/2007
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