words & pictures
Got the clouds on a string (or do they have me) I don’t know why or where they’re going – what they so burdened dream in gathering swell, in trailing dissolution thin hand raised against the sun where they end and I begin a perturbation on the face in the disavowal of their exhalations gone repletely smoothly only that in the fleet urgence of our conspiracy their hesitant pull so easily lifts
At the beach we fall like Carthage Tasting salt In the dunes butterflies grace Small stars on the bramble bush Bright as copper burning There is no one here but dreams of wanderers Worn as sea glass In twisted nubs that fire never made Green and agate against your lips A taste like mermaid skin, you say I say, as if For curling winds We bow our heads Your face big as the sea-lorn moon Pocked with hollow frowns A garland temple on your brow Pollen on your breath All fell down Two mouths make butterflies, of course Flying away In utter blue To wind-torn speechlessness
