Monday, August 11, 2014

Crowded

This room feels crowded 
even though there are just two of us.
His head on the pillow, mine in my hands.
I stand by his bed 
as if he were learning to lie in it, 
as if I were his teacher, the one
who walks alongside the bike 
the child is learning to ride.
All our feelings mull around us 
like munching cows, 
sometimes touching as they wait 
to be milked 
but the hours pass and nothing is spoken, 
everything abided.

Deep down

Deep down below the stem, 
below the root itself, 
down in the beginnings, in my body’s engine
that transforms my energy into breath, 
into these heart beats, 
that forces these pores to sweat 
and my blood to move through me--there, 
down there,
lies my terror. 
In the zenith of one day to come 
my eyes will not fully close 
and I will be alone 
again in the depths of night
as in that moment before my creation.
I will be tossed up into the cold night, shimmering
with stars, 
like a snow ball melting as I fly, 
splintering into drops 
and the drops into tiny worlds
with suns of their own 
and the atoms, now a fine mist, 
will enter the air, my atoms rushing into 
the half light, 
and my being still shining
with a wavering glow, like an aura, 
like glitter on a lake--bright points of light
that come and then go. 
Deep down, I know no ghost 
will leap
from my lovely wreckage.