Thursday, December 29, 2016

I like the idea


I like the idea that there’s an idea. In the bare trees of winter.
In the wise-hungry birds. In madness and mittens.

Out past the graveyard. Have you seen them?
How they roost on the branches of frost-bitten words?

And they’re off. And I like the idea that there’s a generous palm.
In a snowy statue a beating heart. That all is well in the world.

But you tell me a time comes. And another. And then another.
And I tell you, all of the times are one time, and the one is none.

You tell me apples are not oranges.
And I tell you how much I love them, naked and bleeding.

You are beautiful. You tell me many fine things.
Very well. I confess. I live in a dream world. In a world of dreams.

You smile. I’m your puppy. Your goldfish. Your child.
And I tell you, dig deeply, run freely, be wild.

The idea that there’s something hidden and something revealed.
Like the distance we imagine between us is healed.

O dear one. Such a steep climb. So many graves. What a fool I am.
In the marketplace you would give me a penny and be done.

But here we are one. Masculine-feminine. God.
And the moment we have waited for is finally come.

When ideas aren’t needed. Take me up. Lay me down.
Bid me farewell. I am your bones. You are my tongue.



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