In this fixed game I love you.



A parlance we took to the islands,

a sun collapsing,

peering over mountain and

down to crystal surf,

the bright smile of a dream…



Sitting on this balcony

a storm swears itself and leaves no testimony,

nothing can save us

but our own fragile choosing.



So cross forever far the coming breech,

another day wakes and breaks its promised take…



And gain this heart with eyes flung open.

It will love you

long after…

And for every last trespass



discovered.

Tenderly they wait
on the concrete sidelines,
these sunset lit trees
sullen and faceless
they wait
for us to slough away
and for the rush of bodies
and locomotives
to quell down in mercy

they will reclaim
the lost space
springing out from
landscape reservations
as earth's peculiar
egoist tenants fade
finally into hoary remission

they wait
they wait
and will usher us along
and out as pallbearers
through a closing time
murmuring patiently
at our spent fortune and folly:
'close the door quietly behind you,
you hominid *******, your lease is nigh'

this is it here,
creaking moments at near dawn
and outside the world is quiet
except for murmurs
in my sleepy crown

everything be still
now and a life reflects
within me
warm under the covers
the past resolute
and a stranger to future
the script unfolds from
curtain to consciousness

the fleeced hour
is upon us, a shuddering
forth of what we knew,
this knowledge hewn
into the face of day
an appetite forlorn
and mourning for nothing
new

the question lingers
and stings like rock salt
did we manuever well?
and will our lives
find a safe harbor
without so much
giddy atonement
cos such things dwell
within and breathe

and so you are the tantamount,
more than monument
or park, something
inchoate and imbibed
a spell derived
from angelic alchemy
a destination meditatively
arrived
when feet desire the sea

and so there's
no country too distant
no photograph forgotten
and lost
there is only the truth here
sleeping between the leaves
and caught pages
for an age getting old
to ash back into baby skin
there is only the wait here
and the ache there
and there is finally born
you and me

i'm yours today
inchoate, in veins
and glory be
and how
our tantamount
pleasures can give,
subside, sleep listlessly
and worry
none

you've got no reason to be
but yer here, aren't you?
a soul on the beach
ducking in and out of holes
maybe, into shells,
another being with
the softness inside
and the fishermen are
readying themselves for night

around the pool we now site
it's nearly 2 am, a Ryder moon
yonder high,  you tell
me of travels in Africa,
and everything is quiet now
just alcohol, bleeping frogs,
and the dark sand touched
by murmuring gulf, a silence
borne out of whittled conversation

and so a spider hugs a wall nearby
as we recollect the noon before
catching a red fish out by the reef
and the sun and swells seemed forever
patient and knowing
and the horizon hewn between us

follow death of days
pebble strewn, you always knew
the circumference of doubt
and images forgotten
if i could recollect you
i would, steadily, so,
and make venture
unto welcoming shore

as you are

the smell of freshly cut grass
is the smell of promise
in this afternoon sun, recollecting
a past time, a younger time,
always won,
but seeming lost now,
being older,
the smell of freshly cut grass,
nature's summer cologne,
something manufactured,
my own...
the whine of the lawn mower
the breeze wafting around
the smell of grass
continually known.