12\15\2015

the oval of your face or the 
cut of crescent all are true in the end 
in this end all geometries matter 

and none your body a tribute the 
nighthawks carry away how the sound
of wings lift you discretely to the secret 

place those whiskered birds sleep 
riverside of dreams like tender 

grey stones opaque to our 
sewed-shut eyes 
but your heart unmerciful stone

lives on. we live on. we iron our clothes
we work. we breathe and hold our breath
when our toes find it:

your heart tucked in our shoes in 
the morning like something the 
cat left for us or plump 

soft and bloody as steak on the dinner 
table everything reminds while
we pass it hotly hand to hand 

it stings like an orange coal and
we ache under the dead weight the 
living bear but please don't let them 

tell us it doesn't burn don't let them lie 
and say you lived well or rightly as if 
you were a clever summary

enough
enough. I loved you too much

burn that book go now to the wind 
and scatter yourself vagrantly as we 
chase after, fools falling tangled 

among our stupid legs. damn your 
stubborn voice it always confounded 
me damn the way you departed but 

oh your hand that time in the dark 
theater where I raged breathing salt 
and wrack you placed it on my 

face like so like a wet leaf. I cannot
forget how at once I came to the 
surface how at once 

I dreamed so gratefully of breathing air 
visions of forests that went on and on 
listen: it's okay you're gone. go. 

I know now it was wrong of us 
to hold you so long it was wrong 
of us to stop breathing when you 

stopped breathing. listen, love.
even now you are teaching
me how to let go how to love

again and again and so on without 
ever believing I can bear it.
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