Saturday, May 22, 2010

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-

you're so sweet to me)

the rain's falling

harder now,
on the roof of the porch

tiny dispersions

fickle clarity

some days
i am unaccustomed

to this

it feels odd,

and i understand
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
a national craze

i just get
more upset, really


i dont even like
that movie,

and its all
i can think about.