you are real and strong and no matter
what some wonderful could happen
looking at the sea from atop an island
our youth will exist in every age
because it has to but without the contrary
there is no progress - release me
from my heart so it can meet you
in the great and small distractions
without foraging in their drift
All we need to do is something.
So we fished in the city’s
wallet and found dirty change
and left over sand from a far away beach,
then took the train like a jet pack
so we had to squint through the rushing dark.
Things got me all knotted up
cause I was still late
and I’m now writing a note to apologize
and say god I want to kiss you
most minutes, except maybe
when the sky cracks open
but even then could you rejoin me
in a slow dance in a crowded bar?
The mastiff of sun accelerating
our change of seasons sheds on the couch,
I tried to nap the drinks off
but sneezed the pigeons from their wire
and the flutter shook you back
into rejuvenating and all I could think was
how different it would be, having
breakfast with you every day,
or looking out into the sea.
In a later nap’s dream,
I asked you to take notes of all
the hints of different somethings
kicking into a hurricane.
The sea at night yawns at the full moon
The sea at day does not cave for white flowers
The sea at dusk didn’t die young so it must die old
The sea at dawn scratches broadway neon out of its night beard
The sea at noon strokes my face and calls it a lovely day
The sea at three is an anxious puddle suspended before the bus stop
The sea at rest fidgets as soon as her eyes close
The sea awake gets a tummy ache as her lips seal around another espresso
The sea in bed cannot look everyone in the eyes
The sea in the morning kisses me with coffee ice cream morning breath
We’ve talked about hiding in secret
mountains, but you can’t take it
with you. There’s been so much
in listlessness that we forgot what
the sun felt like, so we gather seeds
to plant that ache in the sky
and wake up with the walls lit
like July. We could drink the moon
in a pinch, we could make it rainier
if we passed on the occasion
to banter with the complacent.
I’m not sure the cost of this secret mountain
but I have buried myself in its snow
and will thaw only when I believe
I can crawl out through its heart.
I looked out the window
and saw myself
coming back, despite worlds
beneath me that I can’t
name but long to journey to.
What will I take?
Arrows. The quivering
proclivities to bury myself
in a briar. Dwelling
on the blackness
that is punctuated still
by stars. Turning the heat
to melt alternate futures
into the air. But I will return.