Falling Leaves and their Veins of Knowing
kiss of clovers
pecking skin, accidentally sweet
like the nod of a stranger
when neither need speak
the taste of pine
scratching your tongue
pique of precision
texture of autumn enclosing
silent harvest come
and there is something
about me being a woman
but always a girl by your side
summer takes the twist of the knife
with some dissatisfaction
but leaves her secrets
at the waterfront
that’ll always know our names
introduced in the sand
absorbed, finger-traced
a tide is nothing
in the face of the embrace
that waits for me
to pull away
memory stuck in the tissue
of the moment
of the place
but I’m not looking
for other seasons,
I’m just looking for you.
Bob and Baez b-side
in the next room
sway of sounds dissolving
in cups of coffee and tea
sweetened with talk
of last night’s dream
the stories and secrets
we live under sleep
of autumn and ashes
of loving and dying
of family and future
a side of filthy jokes
and a cigarette from Seoul
after a few drinks
laugh about the time
you forgot ‘the phone works both ways’
(that lapse absolved)
we discuss and decide the moment
of matrimonial misery
petering out
in maternal silence
hope for no Blue Valentines
of our own
passing notes
with glances burning invisible
a knowing smile, sororal
rush of the years and the tears
pooling our wisdom and wit
(of which we claim to have)
our conversations
run in figure eights
late dinner at yours
I figured nine?
let the faucet of
September run dry
days of many musings
dripping out
one by one
27, 28, 29,…
I could do this forever
clasp it, suffusing in my hands
washed, wrung, and dried
anew
I miss you, I’ll see you soon.
descent of leaves
their veins of knowing
line a seasoned face
coming into reach
finding humility on the ground
blue celluloid planted
over the field of view
polaroids blinked into existence
snap open, eyes shut
in and out
of the real and the not
in and out
of the reel and the knot
hook, line, and sinker
autumn settles
in the shape of a slender anchor
blue branches
blue birds
shades and shapes sinking
all fabrications
tumble dried
in blue celluloid
turn my radio to your station
air is cooling
but I can feel my face
and I can sit still
feel my shoes fit me well
with every step in front of the next
austere expression
betrays a heart
thumping loud
and a head
driven steady
autumn is the death of some,
for others,
grey matter livens
briefly.
