When tongues tip to farewell
--fare well, fare wonderfully.
Like strangers, like heartbeat:
"Thank you for my childhood."
"Thank you for being my child."
* I tried to tell Scout this isn't yoga, but he just pouted.
--fare well, fare wonderfully.
Like strangers, like heartbeat:
"Thank you for my childhood."
"Thank you for being my child."
* I tried to tell Scout this isn't yoga, but he just pouted.
wait and know the coming / of a little love ~ Carl Sandburg
Beginning is quiet
a blink, a tap, then waking
our eyes, the screen, and yearning
I think about people
we used to know, used to date
how we lost them to love and--fate
How we used to see them
now and then in waning memories /
when tagged in other people's new stories.
I hug care's sharp blade
through tongue and thoughts
histories, our hearts; hear it whistle
where they're not, no return
Why? Asking did the virus happen--
Are they ghosts? Are they ghosting?
I mean to write of pomegranates
and roses in fairytales, how even
the pierce of your stare is a star.
You my child, have been puppies, tigers,
bees, snakes, and a praying mantis. You
say, today's animal: "sickly Victorian boy."
So pearlescent with scattered energy
stay stationed in understories of care
and humming to the surface, beyond
yes--the press of your face on my shoulder
but holding fast like the ink-paint-print-stain
koans growing on your arms for years.
carrying--valiant as ants--
relics of their fallen friends.
They see me turn muddy, as I
drink me (60% water, baby)
You'd think I am called grief.
I'm keeping an eye out for you
yearning for you for when you
are already inside (my head)
all my winged things: birds, words always seem to happen only in momentous mystery their maps ghostly with emptiness layered on unknown and ...