It's suburbia
When the dogs start howling with
Ambulance sirens

But you said, she whispered, her voice laced with poison and smoke. *You said dragons don't exist.
I never said they didn't exist, I breathed, the snow melting beneath our twitching fingers. **I said I'd never seen one. Until now.

.

The first time I kissed you

was the most amazing moment
in my entire life

and I would have held it
just a little while longer

if only I had known

it would

also be the last time

is it stress?
is it life?
is it trauma?

aches, all over
hurt, all inside
pain, all over
heart, all but died

what's the source?
what's the plan?
what's the use?

what if there is no backdrop
i mean it could all be the central story, right?
i've called weaker plotlines boring and stronger ones interesting
and now when i see the story stretched out
not only over the course of my life
but through the tapered and weaving lives
of circles and slopes
of color and dreary bland borders

i see

i am compelled

it fills me

i was an artist
you were perfect
now I'm a worker
and you're confused
and the mess is better than any straight line ever drawn

we write and dance,
we share so selfishly,
like everything is ours to give

His speech is rough,
his work is smooth.
Wait.
Don’t make him talk.

His tools can maim
or make an angel.
He has wrinkles like wood grain,
memories like wood scraps.
Wait, and he’ll carve one.

The stories come
gnarled, with knotholes.
Listen.  
He chuckles like a chisel
working old walnut.

Do angels taste regret?
It seems unnatural
To count the feathers that remain,
When all the rest have turned to ash.
Reclaim your wings,
Even if broken,
Even if unholy,
Even if they cut into your ribs
when you try to sleep.

The sky never swore to protect;
It only promised to allow the fall.