echoes.it's been a month
but my skin says
a month too long
your skin says
the flocks of
taking flight in my body
the seashells lining
so i will always sound
like the ocean
the glass bottles
the greenest of my eyes
i'm just fog off the water
i'll be gone by tomorrow
but i'll be back
You lie to me as I sleep.You have blue-gold eyes
and a bad habit
of only telling me you love me
in my dreams.
I lie awake,
sleepless and missing you,
the heavy comforter
draped across my naked waist
as stars settle,
across the sky.
And I wonder
if the barn owl outside,
is telling me I must move on.
if the moth
flitting across my cheeks
is telling me
that you're already gone.
You have a leprechaun's pot of gold
hidden in the depths of your heart tonight
and I can read it
in the shadows of your eyes:
You just love the idea
of falling head-over-feet
for the impossible.
grappling with silencethe first nights being home are
indescribable. they are breathing a strange air
that has already composed your lungs, shuffing your feet
through grass that holds the same
you have always known in darkness.
they are absorbing voices you almost forgot,
petting the love that is your cat's back,
falling into bed far too late at night and thinking
of someone you swore you'd forgotten, had left behind,
and instead use as a measure for everything present.
(you are ever the wall against which I fall.
in the morning I get up, paint your skin
with three layers of tangerine paint,
and cover you in brand new photos. a day later
I am pressed up against the old plaster,
straining to hear the sound
of your blood rushing again
but then I wake up and, as the
artist knows, I keep painting.)
the word that comes to mind is always
growing tall and skinny like a pomegranate tree
shooting through your childhood
it does not have to be rumpled bedspreads and skin, it is
a telephone crying a