The advice is always the same:
jump the stone wall,
run headlong into the night,
arms open, heart split in two
reddened halves still pulsing,
raw and meaty and true .
Scaling walls has never been easy
or simple—to land the hook
with steely bite, just so,
into the chink of brick at right angle
that will hold,
hold the full weight
of feather light touches,
fingertips that draw sweet curlicues
across your skin, your face,
sandpaper of your unshaven cheek,
sugared plump of your lip,
the weight of a smile.
The poundage of an autumn day,
skipping steps through russet leaves
falling like slow paper rain.
The weight of whispers,
such scurrying secret mice
from pillow to pillow, mouth to ear.
The tonnage of a Sunday morning,
coffee beans ground to aromatic dust,
onions for an omelet simmering
in the sharp sizzle of Jim Beam,
your trademark, eggs a la you.
Robes tied loose and easy,
easy to lean into the sleep warmed
crook of your welcoming arm,
loyal pup at your knee.
The ballast of a book
shared, read, read again,
pondered and discussed,
words strung like pearls,
not a one thrown to swine.
The weary heft of the wanderer
and journeys in duet marked
to every star guided direction,
accrued and shared memory—
Pacific crash of moonlit waves,
Central Park and its ghostly protagonists,
Superior star studded and bejeweled,
infinite black velvet sky,
southern drawl and spill
of Spanish moss draping trees,
these are yours, mine, ours.
Race beyond this maze of walls,
the heart itself split into borders
outlining what has been, what will be,
what forever holds.
No comments:
Post a Comment