A Cargo of Green Hearts
if you have been missing for thirty years you
might remember who you are
sometimes it takes that long of a journey
outside of ourselves, into the dusk or mountains
beyond the fences of our hearts. a family of
bears takes us in. there is a wobbly ladder to the sky
and we climb it. we find a strange bouquet
in another country, pack it into the suitcase of
our chest for later. the bears teach us how
to endure the cold season, hold our
sorrow for spring. the sky-ladder will break
behind us-- but to touch the blue, blue sky
and stare down on the roof of our head.
just once is a kind of forgiveness.
what we receive from passing through others who
are not like us deepens our gaze. the thought other
fills us with our own other. the trick is to find the perfect
match that will burn down our perfect home.
all of the real lessons arrive out of getting lost.
the cows move across the fields
without thinking, buoyed by
the hymn of the long grass.
they seem to take no steps but get
to where they are going
it's true: the grass invented them
to make itself more important.
what we think is in charge
isn't. to simply think control
means not in control. something
moves us, not-us lifting each
of our legs. the sun looks on.
to go to the ledge, high up
no apology for disappearing
gnarled trees sit close to me
I put my arm around one
love, I am your friend here
where everything else is small
and the wind says it's okay.
see, its about returning to the source. nights so warm
the fireflies stick to the air. watermelon, as a metaphor for
any of it. I remember walking up an estuary in the moonlight
fish bouncing off my chest like bullets. on such a night
one could lie down upon this earth with just a sliver of
sadness, not the whole pie. I would not give up the green
grass for anything; it would be better to die than not have it.
who among us has not felt the same about a lover? I never
learned the names of the birds but there is still time.
summer is made of time. the kisses stay in your mouth
even after you're done kissing them. when the beach rose
takes over the night air none of us will behave responsibly.
so be it, if the molecules of my being last until then.
I will be finished with all this house cleaning, this waiting
for the postman. the house will have burned down.
the postman gone fishing. I remind myself that what I think
matters doesn't. I won't speculate on the shape of the
mouth I will raise my hand to touch. I will close my
eyes. when I open them, everything will be in place.
even the thought of summer is a kind of faith.
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