A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
the ocean serenades. I forget that I am a tired shirt.
there are constellations on the bottom of the sea. all of my shipwrecks replaced by these sensitive waves. someone will have to remind me I have brown eyes. that my hands have ten fingers. is this the flavor of my skin. is this what tenderness left on my starboard. someone seals a kiss in a wine bottle. throws it out. the whales sing so prettily I could die of such doorbells. reminds me: I have this memory of you. touching my face. and speaking to me such long syllables. during the night it is my only star. you, that thought. the gloss of kelp is the glide of your tongue. the roses that grow on the beach cannot live without salt. don't say it isn't so, that love is easy. I am tired of short-cuts. their thorns hurt like lightning. it awakens me. sunrise, even here is not enough. I am touching you in a memory. that is all memory is. the freckles on your jaw. how your eyes row out and drop like the moon. I will not cooperate with the death of any heart. only a woman like you could understand. if you stayed. your pulse, an old sorrow. you've been listening to the whales so long. their words for harpoon. the furrows on your brow. I told you, my kisses were invented for this. the wind has always been blowing this way. the whole world's driftwood is ours. a thought: in thinking of you I am not lost anymore. funny after all this time. home is everywhere you are. we could just drift and find it. an embrace, yes, that, and so much more. I believe anything is true. that love can breathe water. that love can walk on it. and tomorrow
maybe I will wake sideways in my bed and maybe leave the house sideways and move sideways off the map to a somewhere else all this time I have only seen from the corner of an eye but for this madness I would believe it were true a whole new map there at the end of the world with strange light always sunset or sunrise and if I close my eyes I can still pretend you are leaving or better yet you are arriving and like I, think this strange place on the edge of everything is best where the love we have lost and the love arriving are equal, precarious precious and short as life. sometimes in the morning
the ache is heavy. the bed too big. I have been dreaming for so long the night has foreclosed on my tenancy. if you are capable of kissing kiss me. the cherry blossoms have all fallen. the birds are speaking. listen. now is the time to walk under the green trees and whisper extendedly. my name is right here. these are my eyes. they are brown. all you have to do is say so. |
Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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