1488
I’m in a place
the words come from
your mouth,
green leaves.
– can I tell you something?
I’m in a place
where the words
bloom flowering dogwoods
from your red lips.
— can I tell you something?
I’m in a place
my hands are Judah’s
in potting soil
little
in exile
– can I tell you something?
I’m in a place
watching ivory flowers
Carolina cherrylaurels
and cedar elms
and Mexican sycamores
–
– can I tell you something?
the sound trees make
at half past two
blossom inside me
–
Can I tell you something?
I dreamt of you
clad in silver and white
asleep
curled
a little comma in that bed
facing the lake
all my suitcases around you
towers and obelisks
black and navy zippered things
I slept beside you when
the morning was on fire
when I moved my arm
under your head
you opened your eyes
as if I was truly
your lover and everything
that means
honey baby
the morning was on fire
and the trees cheered
as you touched my chest
just like that white oak
in the yard by the pond
we cut down
you never saw
I realized you were never
really there at all
and my beautiful baby
was just a trick of the light
the way waxy leaves
make and tear apart shadows
with nothing permanent
-
Can I tell you something?
-
My chest is full
of potting soil and the
sky is flat
and beautiful
and blue
and alone without you
