She is a shadow on the grass. She
is a shadow cast by a star so plain
it bears a simple name. She is a figure
on a ground so vast that even she
can not see herself. Mosses grow under
the grasses. Stars behind the sun. Shadows
follow on, between the eastern mountains
and the field all green and yellow. And each
pebble burns its shadow, and each broken
sparrow on the road’s cold shoulder. And why
would anyone be afraid to die
against this curve of space, this ground of time?
Her breath streams a shadow through still airs.
Passing planets pull dark shadows from their stars.
To have without acquisition:
The new hat, but not on the head,
only the eye seduced with plumage.
Great Egret dressed in lace and masked in green,
Green Heron wing, Little Blue Heron blue,
Purple Gallinule: purple feathers, bill red and lavender.
Guy Bradley gave his life,
shot in the back on the shell-shored island.
Plumes worth more than gold.
Now they stand unconcerned, preening,
across the water among the trees.
Not enough water, the long grass river
not long enough,
but enough for now.
Logging, spy-hopping, bubble-netting.
You wave flipper-legs;
your breath clouds
blow in the bay.
You sound: your humpy back,
tiny hipbones hidden,
your flukes up
like splaying feet.
Your lunging,
great hungers,
mysterious love affairs.
You sing where we cannot go.
You must be awake to breathe.
Your carcass once
on a stony beach.
Baleen fabric, skull bone cave,
I didn’t much want to go,
not caring for adventure,
what to expect,
imagining
alligator attack,
drowning in deep water,
some vicious consciousness,
so far away from home.
The long train ride,
whistles in my sleep,
tug away from every thing I knew.
TEN THOUSAND ISLANDS
Because it’s tidal,
easy out toward the islands:
piles of shells in the shallows.
Mangrove roots red and tangled
Watch:
these are my words
these shapes
on the page
Watch me
tilt, orient differently--
tilt, pivot, zig zag, tilt,
give the back a break,
tilt, pivot, zig zag, tilt,
give the head a break,
tilt, pivot, zig zag, tilt,
and circle into self
to adjust placement
to start again. And
circle into self to
adjust placement to
Some days I feel like we're the bestest of friends,
Like our bond has no ends.
I feel like I could tell you everything,
Straight from the beginning.
There's no such thing as shame
Nothing such as embarrassment, and suddenly I don't feel so lame.
Sometimes I feel like it's you and me against the entire world,
And suddenly I feel less cold.
Sometimes talking to you feels like a hug or a warm embrace,
Like someone wiping the river of tears off my face.
Other days I feel like a nuisance,
But don't worry, all this was in my book of predictions.
Some days I'm scared to talk or ask you the simplest of things,
Afraid of the embarrassment it brings.
I'm slowing down my pace, for walking towards the future.
I'm trying to stand my ground but life keeps moving on.
I can't stop time.
I can't stop life.
I can't stop walking, but I can try to make the walk last.
I'm walking hand and hand with you with a smile my on face.
I'm so close to you but I feel so far from you.
I'm starting to forget you face.
I'm starting to forget your name.
I'm starting to move on.
Then suddenly I'm not holding on to your hand anymore.
I've turned one way, while you turned the other.
You're gone and I don't care.
I'm moving at my own pace trying to comprehend what's going on around me.
Then suddenly a new hand grabs mines, and we begin to walk hand and hand.
I have a new love.
i often wonder if i could do it all again
all of it
change things i've said at the wrong time to the wrong person
change things i've thought at the right time in the wrong place
change who i belonged to
changed who i wish i was
change what i have become
but if i change it then i wouldn’t have watched or read or listened to something for the first time
i wouldn't have connected those dots
i wouldn't have felt that way about something so detached from my reality
i wouldn't have felt any of it
i wouldn't have seen the first and last episode of that show and screamed at my phone when iwas fourteen
i wouldn't have listened to that song and cried under my covers at sixteen
dust to dust
dust
singular specks in this vast realm, singular specks unnoticed in this vast realm
unnoticed until gone
until gone, these specks were once the walls of a city, the chief of the guards, a book, a great tree
a great tree maybe stood tall and proud; floushiring - or perhaps a great tree slumped and withering; accepting
accepting of a time that would now be theirs
a time which only approaches when light turns to streaks, when chips become cracks become holes
holes
holes left in the walls, in the people, in the words, in the realm itself
and those holes will be filled
they will be filled with but the remnants of what they once were
they will be filled with dust
boldness is what i'm told
coldness is what i've returned
for the bold must be brave
yet the cold stay sane
for the coldness of stone harbors great secrets
for the coldness of stone stays forever a fortress
the fort defend from those which are bold
and the bold only bleed onto cold stone walls
leaving only the victors and vain
to retell the bold's doomed name
and the resounding echo of nothing seemed to mean everything to me
from the darkness to my own breath
everything seemed detached yet wholly
mine
things hadn't been like this in a while
where everything seemed to be nothing
and nothing was everywhere
and everywhere was only this small space of
me
i was nothing
i was everything
i was detached
i was everywhere
i was breathing
and it echoed
it echoed
i often stare at that streetlight outside my window
i wonder what it has seen
i wonder what it hasn't
i wonder if the moonlight knows that it can't make it through the clouds
i wonder if it knows the only seeable things are in that little circle
i wonder whether that circle is taunting or welcoming
i wonder why that circle seems so different than in day
i wonder why it prompts me to run, in what direction i cannot say
i often stare at that streetlight outside my window
i wonder if it stares at me, too