that promising day
i wore my hair
down and you slipped on red shoes
the cabinet
held the chipped plate
the drawer
forgave the bent tines in our
mismatched
forks
behind the
house, in the shade of the big-leaf maple
the river sang
to the sapphire jays
darting to the
hazelnut tree
listen, you
said, the river sings for us, too
i strained,
but nothing came through
you offered to
teach me the tune and
i just
couldn’t learn
no ear, i said
your disappointment
was quiet, clear
all this talk
of singing poured through me
opening one
door after another
until the center was met
the notes fell
from my mouth like a pearl plucked
from an
oyster, or so you said later
when things
were hard and we wrapped ourselves
in the memory
of that promising day
no matter
even in the
timeless hours, seconds pass
nothing stops,
nothing rests
dreams open
& close like gentle hands
which in anger
turn to fists
battering
flesh & stone
sometimes
there are screams,
a sigh, the
occasional sob
sleep is not
death’s rehearsal
just the brain
taking a break from
rational
thought
the dreams
borne of fear are
jagged
those lifted
by desire leave one
hungry
& regret
fuels the most fitful sleep—
whatever the
dream, or
its velvety
depth, the first question
on waking is
always why,
no matter how
i hoped, prayed &
begged
whatever rules your heart,
you didn’t
love me
our myths
there is no
time in dreams
everything
swims
in the murk of
now
trapped, or
held safe?
whichever—neither
or both
it’s only for
a moment
it all keeps moving
sea glass is
an emerald
the old woman
is girl again
the dog fells
the rabbit
i touch your
heart
reason returns when eyes open
and we write
our myths
out of what
has left us
shift
backlit clouds
suggest a silver shade
like spilled
mercury
or the cast of
a daguerreotype
in the hands
of mathew brady
drifting in an unknown sky
is it loved
for its closeness to white
or because
it’s nothing like it?
you carry your
heart in your shoe
i carry mine
in my hand
yet we both adore the smell of rain
a white-gold
band is silver in some light
the promise it
stands for shifts, too
passion
becomes patience
close to love,
yet something
else, entirely
in her blindness
in her blindness she quiets,
pulls from silence
a sigh, blink, heartbeat
in the now-gone light she gathers
blackness below the collar bone
a warm inky pool to float in
color & the stab of sunlight
recalled, vistas dreamed, faces
conjured from love, though
need no longer rends
blindness, her best company now,
sends her along, neither seeking
nor blessed
space is black, too
& she’s closer to the universe
than when she could see
the stars—all those passions
still alive in her bones
where forever resides
