We are trees at dawn,
Faceless silhouettes lined
Before the blinding glow,
Witnessing the birth of morning

Swaying, we are autumn leaves
hanging by a lymph node as the first of
snow gently seeps over our noses
and we fall, a hail of brown and white.

And when the sun has risen
Above our heads, we stretch
To weave hurried fingers
In a sharp grip with the warmth.

I’m not sure what it was I’d heard before
we picked our bodies from the floor and
folded loved-soaked blankets into trinkets
that we wore around a finger designed only for such.

A glimpse of a whisper hangs full over
The dresser in the corner of the room
And speaks, put your hands on me.
Make all your fingers to moving.

A few paces from our bed skirts, the leaky faucet;
dampness rising from the oven in wispy shapes of steam,
wine bottles sealed on the kitchen counter, empty plates
and champagne swimming in bowls of tepid water.

Ghosts from the warm frenzy are still
Marching, and shouts streak the walls.
So few are the minutes left unhandled,
The quiet making hair-triggers of us.

And you trailed backward down the mountain
still reeling from this death, the dust fresh in your hands;
you wouldn’t have awaited any answers, though they’d come. 
Now we murmur in the dark, you here and me there.

Standing straight-backed, rooted deep in the clay,
We make space for our grandiose promises:
These are the most honest times of my life.
It will never be living without your heady grip.

Cascades of thoughts inking the bristle of your back
pin and prick you at the small of it, each blink
anew with grief.  “It wasn’t love,” you’ll say
even if snow belies friction, if rain beguiles fate.

But we’ve come to a place of drum rolling steps
And our upturned faces will not be cautioned.
With gusts at our shoulders like tentative thrones,
You make light of my still affirmations.

All is said, so when it’s done you’ll have nowhere to stay;
the vases in your kitchen will be filled with faces of
all those you chose not to love, and in the fall,
when you remember me, you will walk the dunes and sob.

09/27/2011

Author's Note: First Draft.

Posted on 09/27/2011
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