After the Death Of
for five years
each Valentine’s he
was gifted roses
the scent of fields
where daisies march
between bovines
and their cud of dreams
he was chewed entwined
in sunbeams resting
on laneways and
concrete cavorting with
Icarus and clouds
the short walk to morning
coffee and work
he was preserved
friended and unfriended
a wave in an ocean
a point occluded by
sunset breaking onto
the shoreline of
old avatar in winter
forever bereft of spring
Husks
Where are the
I remember and I am
where are you
snow falls and winter
continues do you
remember the twenty-seven
ways to write you
are a star point
and I am an arm
draped over the ocean
of snowflakes
the cold of a touch
that exceeds the onion
slowly unfolded until
I am and you are
autumn in spring
a harvested field
a lonely mendicant
longing for a lost home.
I’m About to Turn Off the Lights, But
Tell me again how words matter
how matter evolves over time
parsed through your words about the matter
and how this argument is stretched
for a time over the fabric
of our conversations.
Evolution always matters and the signals
we emote body to tongue
to this day, to change, to hours
to old friend, old walking mate
old drinking partner of the best
which sinks into the worst —
