cannibal crow on the sidewalk
picks its way through a carcass
slick with blood and grease
one leg already defleshed
the other entirely gone
eats with rabid determination
as if at a task set
for reasons other than hunger
perhaps this was personal
perhaps it had a knife
this new coast land has different weather
still I miss you in the morning
the day gets colder as the hours pass
grey skies and rain have finally arrived
the chill cuts through my bones
there’s so much less of me now
I am a sign
so he said and pointed at me
I laughed at that joke
but it is also true
the question is a sign of what
may you have mule teams
may you have grandmothers
may you have grit
may you have love that carries you
(written on Sept 30)
did I ask to breathe when breath stopped
again and again but machines brought me back
did I ask to see with two eyes or four
with spectacles that got knocked from my face
did I ask for friendship in the solitary years
when I was left to translate this foreign world
I asked for nothing because that’s all I dared expect
watched as carefully as I could, and learned
now?
I ask for nothing still
do not breathe no not now
this is not air for breathing
particles fill the sky outside the window
visibly defining smaze
I heard words break in the air
shattered pieces hovering
uncertain not knowing
whether to fall to the nearest walk
or join the next kaleidoscope
weight unrelated to meaning
curses lighter than gossamer
loving terms too heavy to loft
all hanging there intertwined for a moment
then crack crack crack
the burden of conveyance too much
drag the life you never lived
the one you dreamed of as a child
the one you wanted when you heard that song
the one you felt when your head was on her shoulder
place every piece of it you can fit
into the solitary crowded room of your heart
arrange it rearrange it until you’ve made your perfect space
then gently close the door and walk away
never looking back
(For Chris)
I turned off the clock
tears must have their due
not rushed by paltry measure
nor forced by othered rule
grief has always hit me late
gone underground then emerged
it feels the core of me
hidden, silent, generative
sorrow and joy mirrored alike
the very dance of time
two boys walk hand-in-hand to a room
a pigeon on the sidewalk dies
street corner habitues change guard
the coffee kiosk closes its window
minutiae we’ve gathered shut behind the doors of the day
left scattered across our life in untidy clumps
these illusory except for the return
again and again and again
at the end of the day the day comes to an end
