So there are these stars in the sky whose light we’ll see only for an instant,
on some bug-flecked evening when we’re not even really paying attention.
There’s a tension in the lights and ropes strung out invisibly between us,
a fine network of triggers and tripwires. It was so good to see you,
I’m still vibrating and full of summer light. I see it all fall together in open flashes
of lightning, I trust in the layered cohesion of all these instant fragments.
This separateness is not what we’re here for, it’s what we must pass through,
and overshadow, and return to again before drifting off into the long green chestnut
trees spread out like a trail of broken arms at the edge of the hotel parking lot.
You are losing pieces of yourself faster than you can keep up with them.
I’d like to dip your body into the cold clear springs and taste the summer
leaking out of you. I want to deliver you into the city of everyday electric light
that is yourself and be invited back to stay. Who will be better suited to the aching,
joyous carnage of the new avenues than you and me? This is not nostalgia, this is a
flaming blue spear tossed into the purple fist of the first night after the full moon.
Let’s run into our own bruised faces in the street again, let’s put our swollen,
damaged wrists in the cool black water. Your irises are slashed with violet,
your waking country music is every drop of gasoline I ever dreamed of drinking.
Snakes are crawling out into the sunlight from the shadows. Dogs are easing out
from underneath the porch. There is a healing darkness just beyond the pond
we’re swimming into. A shard of moonlight shaved right off the sky.
A fine crack in my cranium singing for a flame to shoot right out of it.