cheeks still glittering
with last night’s sand
and your head
so heavy in my palms
that I thought it a moon
caught up in my orbit,
the rings about us singing
that all dreams must end.
in words and pose.
above the rest of us.
My own feet
My words dropped
like iron anchors
Took the ship down
or so I thought
when I grasped
for your hand.
You were simply gesturing
to the view beyond.
I lost the end of myself somewhere near the start,
among the scattered sheets of blotting paper
sprung up on iron girder stalks.
Parchment alliums staked out like skeletons,
petals more like teeth,
poems in the stems of them,
but no air for the words to breathe.
Between the leaves the stanza’s curled,
coppered, golden, burnt and burnished,
rhythm rolling hollow in the echos,
tongue twisted through the skirmish
as syllables clattered in and out
silver toothed, thick lipped, broken.
Turned over once, then twice, then thrice,
poetic promised poured and stolen.