We used to be dreamers
Like how the moon chased the sun
And all he got were the glisten lights
Of little stars that tried too hard

We used to be dreamers
Like waves pursuing each chance
To reach the hands of the shores
Yet never seem enough to

We used to be dreamers
That painted the sky red
With the burning passion
That blazed stronger than the sun

We used to be dreamers
Where we could paint with fire
And sing with the wind
Like wandering souls travelling by

We used to be dreamers
That sought the stars in each other's eyes
Where no one can surpass us
But who are we now?

This is the first night
I am lying in the dark
without you.

The room does not breathe.
It does not stir, it does not
cough nor sniff, it does not
roll over and seek my hand
in the middle of the night.

It does not wander in the night.
It does not wander under the sheets
and over naked flesh that yearns
for your touch, it does not
wake to dawn knocking at the window
and say hello good morning
I can’t wait to start the day with you.

Press your ear close.

Sometimes you can hear the breath
rattling in my chest like a bone shrugged
its moorings and ought to be tied back down.

It’s the sound of a canyon
trying to expel a marsh:
hear the stones tumble down,
clatter and splash,
the stiff reeds scouring the walls.
Stuck bristles. Sticks.
The marsh is dauntless.
It can’t be pushed out through
the canyon’s narrow mouth.

It’s the sound of a cave-in.
Press your ear close and
listen to picks and shovels
plinking on the rock.
Soon the oxygen gives out
and all the miners go to sleep,
or they punch a hole through
to the sky and breathe,
mouths pressed to the breach,
gasping a little at a time.

It’s the sound of a brier patch
growing in your lungs.
It’s the sound of a brier patch
set on fire.

You grew up
on the side of the road,
between sidewalk cracks,
in backyards full of
tall bahia grass,
pushing aside their
stems so you could
find the sky.

You grew up
beneath the sun
and out in the rain
and under every
booming thunderstorm
an Alabama summer
could throw your way.

Dogs ran through you.
Men, too, trampled you
but you sprung back up,
rumpled, but still bright,
unbowing, even when
they said you were just
a gangly **** that no
one would find beautiful.

(I found you beautiful,
because your face was
the sun, and I find it
everywhere.)

You grew up.
You had to grow up,
grew white and fragile
and one day the wind
came for you and
carried you away.

Fly far.

I knew this girl once.
I won't say we were friends
Because we weren't.
I should say, she knew me.
A girl knew me once.
And I was too afraid
Too young
Too angry
To know her back.
So we pretended for a while
And then we stopped.
She stopped seeing me
Just as I started seeing her
Just as I started knowing
Just as I started being.
Time dragged me
And I tried to be blind
I tried to stop seeing
And just when I thought
I was ready
To never see again
She appeared
And drew my hands from my eyes
And looked at me for a long time.
We saw each other as we always were
As we always are
And then we turned our backs
And walked apart.
I screamed
And realized
I would never be blind again.

you slept on the inside of the bed
I on the outside
you were cooler
I was calmer
and we talked of everything
but of course - mostly - nothing
you left early in the morning
I slept while you readied

you eskimo kissed my nose
to say you were leaving
and leaving me there
and before my smile reached both ears
you reached the door and were gone
but still there in my head
heading toward my heart

Stepping stones
wet twigs mossy overgrown
footfalls, rain washing the greening path home
grassy droplets, little trickles running
puddles fill the pothole road
clouds break, parting dusk of day
tiny violets sunning