Photo by Nat on Unsplash1.
today the sun hangs
at an angle you could strop
a knife against
there’s the flame and the burner
I twist off the oven dial to know
before we called it oxygen
what was it
we were breathing
if not our own desire
to stay
2.
you forgive me
but I don’t forgive
me
that’s the way
isn’t it
I consult the finest cartographers
I bring my own dowsing rods
thank you very much
I like to come prepared
field notes in my bag, an old movie ticket in my pocket
the old remember when
as in
remember when we slept, you and me, there on the floor
our bodies outlining the light
remember when we watched the birds
break in the window of your cherokee
birdseed in their mouths and then in our mouths
and then in the mouth of space between us
remember when I called you late in the night to say
I’m at your door, buzz me in, the cab won’t wait any longer
the seasons might be changing, if you look too long at the sky
I won’t recognize you, not anymore
whoever you are now, know I'm still an antiquarian, I still fit in those jeans
3.
I’ve stepped over the question, through it, I think
I meant to ask but instead I woke up
wet, my pockets filled with stones, the sound of the river still clean in my ear
we were all looking
for someone
who could haunt us later
you’ll do, you said
I took this
as a blessing
your dog remembers me
when it holds my hand
in its
“soft mouth”
so no
I'm not convinced (I have not forsaken
doubt, the only shirt I wear
more often than yours)
there’s room enough for me
in your dreams
where we’re fastened to a marble slab
and the great artisans come to chisel us
down to the seafloor
I always wish I would
disappear
like this
the most spectacular fashion
so I can leave
knowing people
could not look away
unsure of what
will happen to them
now that they let it happen to me
