words do not bring us closer to them
no language has reminded our lips to burn
names pouring out hands
the phone rose like a Buddha next to the lamp
all lit-up and incidental, a Ganesh of light and hap

I would be glad to leave behind me a bench
or a log stitched in callow etchings
to appease the things that it is not possible to leave behind
wrappers in the base of tree stumps
no one will associate with whoever threw it there
when we are not even a substance that speaks

light forgets to go here &
books write themselves in the hip high ivy
a CD plays itself to sleep
reality is forgiven - reality is forgiveness
it never snows where we met,
I was picking narcissus while you were waiting
in the cave of the dark blue other

to walk me to the river to the place
where mushrooms sprout by rock
closer to the flowers than we’ve ever been
knee-deep in the softening tomb
the stars the feather the petal knew
it before anyone else knew it

you have the book that fights to be open in your sights,
the one that cannot in your hands; I pray that mine will
find tomorrow that my soul can reply to the sun and rain
and the leafy dust will blow against my face again

grind your storms into my lips
bolt the gate behind my eyes
sight sees without taking back and only that which is
between us; only the body will remember this

how you made the stars land on earth
no one has ever heard them
they could so easily not ever
have existed

02/22/2009

Posted on 02/21/2009
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