Sometimes I Wonder
(…)
Sometimes I wonder
if you remember the trees,
how they splayed for us,
or the stars stitching
their stories together,
the ones where everybody wins
and everything’s perfect.
Sometimes I wonder
If you’re still making your guesses,
if the moon is just as pale and beautiful
where you’re standing
as she is right here.
(…) 2
But most importantly
my heart plays a frantic
game of hop scotch
watching you walk
all over it
as I say,
“More.
More.
Please?”
The Stars Are Numbered
Tonight when the clouds clear
look up over your shoulder and
see the stars I’ve numbered for you.
Drag your fingers from one to the next,
make the heavens shashay,
stir up a little mischief,
a bit of magic.
make your biggest wish and
watch it come true.
Celestial
I am stepping a little bit closer
to the edge of the moon
while you are hanging from
the far side of the sun.
Everything’s becoming
less shiny, less clingy,
a grip not quite what
a grip once was.
In the middle of those
out-of-reach clouds is every
answer we’ve been seeking,
but the prophets are mute,
the soothsayers too long in the tooth,
and God is playing a tone-deaf buffoon.
Isn’t it just like night to
take back the day,
turn the scarecrows inside out,
let the stuffing flap away with the wind?
Doesn’t it feel like we’re
flying to another planet
only to learn that
it fell from the sky
a lifetime ago?
Yellow Months
Do you remember
those yellow months,
so ripe in the mouth,
bursting with flavor but
always short a dime?
Do you remember
when the wind was
made of baby’s breath,
the softest paper kisses,
day and night entangled?
Are you listening to
the moon right now,
her bashful breathing
washing the twilight?
I am, and it’s killing me.
What the Attic Knows
Every night I go
back to the attic where
each chained chest recounts
the rumors of murders
committed in this house,
no one ever charged,
no one an ounce regretful,
though all of our bloody footprints
lead in the same direction.
