our cake and being eaten by it, too
After you, or what would Whitman, Emerson, or Merwin do?
I keep a weather station in my head
The Book of The Way: a song of now
Listen
To un-
become or scream or drown or dread, to if, to crown
a wear of heads upon my thorns, to then and when and yes and please
and love, or how a spoon can shine and drive a moon insane,
explain: upon my breath I have no ice in mind, nor stab or beat
or leave an ant or ghost behind, to hold and braid and brace
and lift a face, a sigh, if dive is rise and lies a poor disguise.
A gift should kiss its horse upon the mouth: I troth to shrug
and run and dream and lash myself unto my past,
to walk as if my muddle is a map that looks to me
to lead it home, to sing an edge upon a steel that cuts a split
into a join, if one is math and hole is whole, if I am fall and fear
and skies, if you will stand before a door hewn into air and time,
and thrive, and knock, I will wear my heart upon my eyes
RED ROVER RED ROVER
A partial list of a life
A bird says You are home, you are home at the window.
I put down my suitcase and try to soothe the jet out of my ears
by saying hello to the bird and then nothing at the table
to the salt and pepper. Running my hand over the claw marks
where Sasha jumped on the table to empty the sugar bowl,
I decide five years is the half-life of my mourning
and begin planning maybe considering possibly thinking about
accidentally turning into the shelter in another five years,
though not necessarily getting out of the car to meet
the unwanted dogs. Ten feet away is an X on the floor
only Eve and I can see where Eve collapsed
when her brain tried to run away from itself
but was stuck in its panic room and clawed her frontal lobes
instead: luckily I was there to hold her and turn the fall
into a whisper instead of a crash. Here’s where we light the menorah
every year, taking turns with the match. I was standing here
for “no cancer” and there for a different call
that made me wish I had a hook to pass through my nose
to remove my bones and set them free. Every time I pee
I stare through a big window at a mountain that fits inside
the window like a painting; through that door’s a field
we’ve crossed naked with naked stars; down there’s a river
we can see flash a bit depending on where we stand
and hear samba some when rain has tried to wipe the slate clean
of dirt and all of us. If these walls could talk they’d have mouths
and
