Monday, March 01, 2010


The noise of the motor is running.
My car sits in the driveway, humming.
I don’t fear what isn’t there.

When things get in the way of-
Shattered stained glass windows.
Flowers stain the glass walls.
My eyes stare up at cornflower skies.

I look up at you.
I adore you.
Your face is marred with stars.
Time is etched in your memories.
Whispers speak to me from dusk-
Your words are peeled back on old clocks.
The clock looks at me, you protest laughingly.

You stare at me from across the room.
Your heart is beating against the floorboards.

You are my poetry.
The water is fluid in motion.
Water is motion.
Water is fluid.
Scientists sit in old chairs in ancient
Buildings called buildings or maybe they’re
Called something else,
Like decimal points or campuses.
I took an Essay writing class at the local
Community college.

I don’t talk about anything.
I write things and shadows open their mouths
Wide, wider-the words are not mine. They are
Someone else’s.
You are kind. Your hurt is showing.
I am sorry, sorry-
Words cannot express how the church bell
In the midnight of the dark and you look back at me
And we’re here, here-
Tomorrow is clear. Rings clearer than any doorbell.
The ringing is ancient.
Ancient as anything.

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