Should you ever need me,

I’ll be exactly where
you would expect to find me.

Waves up to my neck,
treading water for a lifetime.
Trying my guts out,
hardly saving your life
or mine.

We’re going to wash up
somewhere familiar
and imaginary.
We’ll write our names in the sand
just large enough for the gulls to
notice.

It was just an incidental finding, really.
But the moment before you sink,
you realize you’ve been weightless
for a while.

You’re skinny, sick
and sought after.  

Your arms are crawling with thorns.
You snarled me in
& spit me out
Within a year that felt
like a fever dream.

Love
or
whatever it was
came through like a train
without breaks or direction.

Your green eyes cut through
your own veil of smoke.

We’re a ***** mirror.
This whole thing is flipped.
I sink into the ceiling fans,
exhaling resignation.
No one would get out of this
without wounds.

I tried to steady your hands.
I tried to drain the flood waters.
I tried to derail you
from the infinite loop towards
infinite sleep.
I tried to shake you awake.
I sent up five hundred flares from the shore
looking at your island.
I threw you a rope,
tossed you a raft,
kept the light on for a while.

The vessels burst
all at once,
all in an afternoon.

You drove us
right towards the railing
of the tappan zee bridge.
Not knowing which death was worse,
I just jumped.

Almost.
Not quite.
An embarrassment of keys fumble awkwardly towards the lock,
half heartedly trying to get me
into you.

Not so.  Not quite.
We’ve been through an ocean of almost.
Ranges full of chances.
Libraries full of
pretty close,
nearly fixed,
weak and luke warm stories
about each one that got gone
& got away.

My head is a clumsy balloon
Severed from its stem.
Disconnected / free to roam:
A distraction for the disenchanted.

I’ll lift your spirits.
I’ll crash your cars.

I’m a pause between words
A missed opportunity
Every thing we should have said.
We’re defined by the dead air
Between our feet.

I’m a vague sky.
Uncertain
Hovering & looming
Threatening & promising
To piece you together
Or portion you off for the crows.

I’m a hummingbird.
I move so quick, I’m temporary.
You can’t be certain
That my iridescent,
Incoherent beating
Ever happened at all.

You must be having a good time up there
in that blue
with those sparrows,
who flutter in and out of your hair
and your hands,
without purpose or presence.

You’re a sight.
You’re a spectacle.
You’re a mirage.

And although I know 
that I ought to warn you of the impending swarm,
I cannot bring myself to interrupt
a quick moment of calm
in an otherwise dissonant day.

You’re my type. 

Bruised fruit. Grounded bird. Poisoned pool

That we’re all jumping into

To save yourself (ourselves).

Doomed to feel it all

Or drown it away slowly

Until you’re a diluted version of yourself.

You’re a natural disaster;

I just tread through your wake.

Moth to a ******* flame..

I just can’t quit you.

I wonder what it was

That you needed to find.

I wonder if anything
Or anyone at all
Might have

Lit your path
Broke your fall

Or sewn up your mangled heart in time.

One last thing?
If you could just tow me ashore..
give me something
to grab onto
other than an undertow
or a year or two gone by
to over-examine after you've left.

I can drink the air 
out of the bubbles in your wake
if you wish.
Whatever suits you
on this day,
is what I'll do
as always.

And if you want to 
let this thing bleed out
slowly and eventually
until it's colorless and still-

You've got it.