wyalusing

wyalusing

i am left with angry fingers, hollow throat

for you to pack the bags in heat of shame

we were young, that will remain the excuse

but i had not called your game, did not know you were not a miracle,

woke you up with orange juice, you grabbed at the familiar

remember we once held hands, close to being strangers

friends then, remember? before interlaced bodies & heat so much

chin up, leaving this, we will head out, head west

i pitched, you pouted, i packed, you cried

like stitches, this trip was an attempt to heal

twelve photos of sunsets, two rivers conjoining

what chest, what heavy breath & rising water

the only words i said were sung to the building fire

in a haunt of werewolves & almost-fallen leaves

a retreat that moved chess pieces, a horse

not to speak, maybe to gesture

following the other's boots over rocks and crevices

prepared to pack camp, hike inland

heard boundary, thought waters

you looked at the tangible and called it permeable

wondered if i'd make the close calls

didn't think i could draw or see sideways

apparently my shirt hat pants skin teeth were not quite real

apparently my fractured edges looked like borders to push across

even with all that access & charm, those good lies in your pockets

the page starts with the last look

forgotten, familiar

5.18.12