Eye Contact

The moments trickle from ignorance; we are the wonder-smell of old books.
Spiked trifles of potential vine down my back,
planting me firmly in the now.

In the friction and distance between,
our minds dance behind veiled feathers.
We are filthy spectators with money

to spend on a good show. The theatre of maybe
built brick-wise by both of us eventually
will dominate headlines. Today,

the shows stay small despite the dedicated casts.
The moments dart under conversations
like frightened cats from the threat of thunder.

I don't care where these glances deliver us
as long as you won't ask me to drive.
But know we are a hushed river

whose water whispers motion into the mud
beneath it. I'll fight your moonlight-slit eyes
with my wooden dagger for a bit longer. Someday I'll surrender.

Vines wilt.
Rivers run.
Shows end.

Without Fire

I paste myself against a coastal horizon
amongst the trailing swirls of pink and orange.

Over my shoulder a cloud morphs from a rabbit
to a shell-less snail springing over the falling sun.

I am without fire and alone. There is nothing
in the sand alongside condolences and sea-slate.

I notice the moon is late to its purpling canopy
while wavelets whisper the final slices of sun

towards the shore. There are yet no bottles,
nor messages, nor stars. I am without fire.

I stare across our oak breakfast table
and you are a close-up of eyelids dangling
over the morning's paper. We sleep
in separate oceans anticipating mornings,
the waves have pushed us into rigid currents.
We do not talk, there is nothing new to mention.
You eat your rye toast and I count the crunches,
noticing my reflection in my cup of cheap
black coffee. I keep hopes for a better lunch.

From behind a folded map
you mention brier patches,
which I have never seen.

I counted holidays by her blushing cheeks,
she hid her shopping stories in her skin.
Illuminating her patchwork veins with every lie,
I could always know the truth by her rouge twinkle.

II

I count nicks on the spaceship
as you smile, rattling
outside of the grocery
while your mother naps at home.
You are a brave astronaut
with orders to examine
imagined planets abroad.
I relate to the distance.
I doubt you count who's with you
these afternoon vanquishments
as you conquer galaxies,
not wanting of love or sleep.
If you want to ride again,
I will put more quarters in.

A Woman

The tree has crumbled in my hands,
The sap has blackened and flaked on my arms,
The tree has hallowed my breast -
Caverned,
The branches have been amputated.

Tree you were,
Mossed you are,
You are a snag with water above you.
An adult - so buried - you are,
And all this is folly to the worms.

She screamed at me,
"You're a no-hope kid."
I thought I would want
her blueberry wrists but
secrets seem beautiful
as a stranger.

Puddles settle black
into slick gravel patches
and pothole dimples.

Orange streetlights halo
scattered blocks of dark houses
with deep desert tints.