it’s amazing what bodies can accomplish
in the dark, you said, we both
reading into the dawn, our heads
like jackrabbits, red eyes
wary in the halflight. we try
to pass it off, just another
comment on the stars,
not on the arms
& thighs & skin of us,
how the clocks of us
feel the pull of tides
in their salty shadows.
we, gentler without the overhead.
we, in awe of how the sun grows
each day like we weren’t even watching.
we, quiet in the roar of the universe.
How I tramp through these days in your shoes,
learning to build fences in the early april mud.
There is something very like redemption
in the hardpan, & in the thrust
of shoulders exhuming each fistful
of reluctant dirt. Just as there are many meanings
in un-earth, & some that should stay
buried. Lying next to you at night,
I find comfort in the soft wind
of your inhale; it lessens the sadness by a spade.
There is much that I miss still, or perhaps
it is that I am still searching
for the tools to set the thing right,
to find us plumb again.
we walk through thunder,
and there are drawn stormclouds
across your cheeks, brow; like train-
tracks to nowhere, and i’ll hop
the next boxcar, simple as un-
wanting, follow it til i find
the sun buried in your irides.
this metaphor is a railroad:
straight, the slow
unraveling of sudden horizons.
a friend tells me
the story of the red-
tail hawk attacked
sequentially by two crows
and a mockingbird. i
wonder if it’s because they know
jealousy like you do, see its predatory
threat atop every lamppost and
raindrops like fat clay pigeons hiss
against rusted rails, tear-on-trestle,
black-feathered bullets of omen:
where will you be
when the lightning comes down?