old bones
dry dust
and brown hills
all i’ve known
since you took my water.
dry cloud in far northern sky
forlorn and weightless
hanging like a withered leaf
that held on
till the snow lay packed
hard and dirty
and then fell, slowly,
to the ice and
made a noise
that god would be proud of.
there is a city on a shore
that stretches out like an enormous blue skeleton
that breathes gray air and hums gray noise
greenglass ribcages loom above a subway spine
and at night
the stars fall down to transform this blighted place
to something holy
while steam escapes
ghostly figures walk shrouded in
rusted respirant
leaving only the clack of soles
resounding off of violet sidewalk
the wind moves through unconquerable
neon candles
lost in labyrinthine
re-bar I-beam valleys
in a place
where it once whispered unencumbered
the smell of a summer storm
as it bullets across a wide desert
heavybreathing from the deep sea
black clouds bear down
on a dry dusty earth
severing the sun
and we scurry under a new master
afraid of abandoning dry
my mother knew these waters would end up killing us
but we ran
and rode bikes through gutterstreams nonetheless
the asphalt
now warm and wet
and speckled
where two knees were skinned countless times
its scent of subtle coffee, soil and tar
and the green leaves murmur and sing
through the waxing halflight
backlit reeds stand on tarblue beach
and the grey gull pats softly in the dark
while behind the lights of ships
—those haunted lamps
of fishpecked sailors
who lie in the black depths—
cast dark shadows
and drift like disembodied
thoughts looking for skulls to call home
those crater footprints looked like yours
and I placed my foot in
and my memory reverie
like those soft lights
bore me across these waters
and dropped me on a high mountain
that lay cloaked in moonlight
little brother was there
or was it a bear?
I asked the night or no one.
I, too, was unsure.
Mountain crest
and lights and rooftops
I turn back and
run
jump
into the cool nightwater
into the soft spirits.
Some rain poems for today
I love very few things more than rain. Here are three short poems I wrote whilst I watched my valley grow gray.
I walk down stone steps
The rain on my jacket
And a clap of thunder
———————-
Gray clouds rolling in
Over city stars
An inverse ocean
————————-
These clouds will swallow this valley.
They will wet sidewalks and shingles
Till only green remains
And red bricks lay buried in mud.
