small insistent thuds

becoming

rain

of the fleeting kind,

makes you wonder

when you stepped outside

that

you were to face

the face

of the one that sticks around,

makes you wonder

of the one that sticks around,

the face

you were to face

that

when you stepped outside

makes you wonder

of the fleeting kind,

rain

becoming

small insistent thuds

metallic blue dream blues

it wasnt because of the smoking

it wasnt because of anything

that was

but wasnt

a lack large enough

to populate a world

the muffler dropped

and the sides fell off

(all corvettes go to heaven)

five a.m.

this depth of dark

could almost be night-

the suns about to crack

my sweet, my love

of the unfurrowed brow of

the dreamful sleep,

the world outside

is a hazy wilderness,

dew spattered frayed unwindings

of sunny summer string;

your warm face pillowpressed and

sleepdamp breeches

the waking surface

of the placid velvet waters, and

sinks back silently beneath them.

im a criminal

for even wanting to wake you.

the heart is made of fire

through the night scrim

of tendril birch branch hangings

the moon is a twinkling

kaleidoscope on the rise

the west wind

like a crescendo comes to dance

with the dreaming birch

who stirs gracefully

in the outcropping of the yard

from here the moon

is on an eastern climb

slowly through the summer sky

casting bits of fire

through birch

apple and cherry

setting it all ablaze

rainbow wing

the longest day of the year has come and gone though there's been little sun to make you believe it; the arborvitae sway in the light breeze like old ladies in a huddle at the bow of a large ship, it would be more lovely than the cargo ship we saw yesterday from the banks of the columbia though its colors were a time worn greek flag and its name was rainbow wing, bound for panama; theirs would be an ocean liner and they would sway atop the deck imagining their destination like the arborvitae in my yard, swaying with little reason to believe in anything else; we threw sticks in the river for the dogs to swim after and we watched as the rainbow wing sliced through the placid waters like scissors through silk and we wondered where the crew must sleep, and if there are windows there.

wonderful

as a child

i smooshed a spider dead-

relieved

at having rid our home

of such a menace

i looked to my parents

with pride

how will you

bring that life back

my father asked,

what will you do

to replace what you have taken?

i wonder

about the balance of things

especially now

soaring precariously over the land

of my nation

having just left

the land of my birth

and the land of my father

and his fathers,

before him-

and i wonder

if it isn't just a story

we tell ourselves;

that we can ever

replace what we've taken

seems like make-believe

or the simple shaping

of a child's character

to, you hope,

one of respect

and empathy.

i'm starting to wonder

if the world

doesn't get less and less light-

if that deep

and ancient fire

doesn't die a little

with each extinguished

breath-

though, truth be told,

i'm sick of explanations

and find the reasoning

weak,

and full of holes.

i didn't die

in the cannon-force explosion

of the harpoon gun

shot from a heart of stone

with a cold, accurate aim

and i wonder,

why not?

we saw the stars tonight

from the stoop, smoking

under the overhang

of woven tree limbs.

have you known a sky

without a city?

stars that pour their light

into rivers that breath

where trees drink

beside them?

my city is perched

on the bones

of its past, the ghost

of the river swells

and recedes

and is perfect glass

on quiet nights;

and the bridges cross

east to west.

the night's alright

with the rain

and the porch light on-

(sometimes

you're so sweet to me)

the rain's falling

harder now,

splashing

on the roof of the porch

tiny dispersions

fickle clarity

some days

i am unaccustomed

to this

it feels odd,

cumbersome...

and i understand

perfectly

why the dogs bark

at the neighbor

and why they are

quietly watching the wind

through the tendril branches

of the birch tree

modern love

when we have

times like this

my mind calls

on the most

useless things

like that scene

in forrest gump

when he wipes his face

on another mans

tee shirt

sparking

a national craze

i just get

more upset, really

because

i dont even like

that movie,

and its all

i can think about.