floating and leaving no trace
there have been times
when i have watched you
while you sleep
watched the rise and fall
of your breath
sometimes
you part your lips
when your eyes are closed
and your breath escapes
and i breathe in the same air
and exhale the same air
and you breathe me in
and we mingle
there have been times
when you have dreamed
that i have had
the same dream
and i cursed the alarm
when it sounded
it’s hard to take
when everyday
you try to bake
something delicious
and no one comes
to the shop
all that bread
gone to waste
that smell of
browned crusts
lost forever
as it dissipates
in the air
pies and cakes
that must be
disposed of
because they won’t last
a single day
beyond
today
it rises out of the lungs
like a laugh
strong enough
to shatter ribs
and strain muscles
and it is incandescent
in its joy
like a dragon
an old god
emerging from a river
and bringing rain
and relief
you don’t do this
you don’t do that
these sins of omission
stoke fires of
hell hotter
than any true transgression
the bones ache for fire
the skin becomes paper thin
as it does with age
as it does with disuse
water is the only thing
left
and the dream of drowning
comes each night
like a drawn bath
why don’t you just
why won’t you just
we could talk
about birds
while i run my fingers
over your skin
tracing feathers in patterns
as light as a feather
against
the smoothness of you
drawing the wing feathers
and tail feathers
the contour feathers
and the soft down against
your soft down
until your skin rises up
under my finger
waiting for the sound
of the previous word to finish
waiting for the sound
to form the beginning of the next
watching the mouth shape the sound
the lips open
the lips round
the tongue moves
the teeth glisten
the jaw works
and the word emerges
silence
sound
silence
an eternity between words
unbearable as a distance
that can be measured
but not compressed
—
inspired by this poem and a comment i left that germinated
no language has words
to contain what’s in my blood
no, nor my sorrow
they used to tell you
that there was a you
inside of you
making you do things
a little you responsible
for the puppeteering
of the meat
the real moral center
homunculus
and inside him?
homunculi ad infinitum
sick of reason
and being reasonable
why not let loose now
and deal later
so easy to to point the finger
inside
there
that’s the guy
the note slides neatly
into the three inch wide
locker vents
he waits
when she opens
the door
it falls
spinning like a large
white leaf
some albino tree shedding
in autumn
the phrase in the card
is french
something easily found
at the library
something easily deduced
from years of spanish
together
from years of doing homework
together
over the phone
for the harder concepts
–it’s in french, he says
–i’m glad i don’t understand french, she says
and laughs, effortlessly dismissive
an oil slick over the surface
of water
as if he is under water
and the thick shadow
blocks the light
chokes the oxygen
and he drowns
the projector projects
a filmy image on the
chalkboard
colors washed out
by the green clay surface
and the light flooding in
through the broken blinds
and the cracked open door
to alleviate
the oppressive september
heat and humidity
science class
though the school is small
and all classes are taught
by the same teacher
and in the same room
filmstrip about insect
life cycles
and a horrible scratchy
soundtrack
like a melodrama
or illness of the week movie
ghost handwriting outlines
homework on the too dark board
–reading
–math
legible on the thorax
of the four foot wide
grasshopper
Words and Feathers 