not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, August 12, 2016


elegy for the easiness of an early evening

they're walking down the country gravel road
in the early evening's empty hours of    bird furls

doing nothing but kicking up    dust    and notes 
which are the silent spaces    and swirls    around the rising dirt

   the music of muteness and touching

they're bumping happily into one another
fumbling love in their hands    in their empty clodlike hands

stroking penumbras of golden light    lifting    rising    caressing
to the smote of shoulders    errant hairs    and the private folds of clothing

and there they are walking down that road
going nowhere but through that place of togetherness

holding up the last of the day's cambered light with their 
dumb ripe hearts    in love with skin that but runs together

there on that dusty road    so clearly    so painfully
never again    you and one of your own small children