[15 August 2019]
And why say no?
When you look at me like that with
7:52AM eyes, hazy, perplexed, boys
certain of not one thing except the need to
belong. Mornings
were meant to be this way,
or so I’ve been told,
orange juice and cardamom and frostbite.
Dark light, pillow fuzz in your beard,
and the way the sun clings to the
sweaty hair plastered to your forehead.
I’ll take it in stride,
take the fire and the lichen, and smile
till the sun peaks through the top
broken slat of your mini-blinds.
June winters are always untimely,
but I can handle it all except the silence.
Moss creeps up the wall, keeping time
with the sunlight and the leaky faucet
and the 52 bus stop start stop start stop
start something new again,
a philosophy of kinds, of wishes,
of hardwood and softwood and sap
sapping any motivation I had to leave this here,
to pick up the fragments I had collected
and roll them down the street like a wheelbarrow –
trapped in the boughs of your lazy arms,
cradling contentment between bone and best, trading
quiet for greed and the sublime for a deck of cards, growing
fond of the way the floorboards creak and sigh and weave together
Proust and finding time in the strangest places.
I can’t imagine it any other way.
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