Another late-in-the-day
Same way
Such a shame
No sweat
Going sane
Don't fret
Never tame
Heat of the moment
Something potent
Brings me back
Nostalgic flack
Heavy with a boost of fullness
Coolness
Cutting to the bone
'Til the sun hath shone
A freighter of light
Crashing down to land
Superman, Superman!
The end is near
The end is here
The time to drive is over
The bunkers and the shelters all hung over
Heat brimming with its closeness
Waves of air swimming with its force
Light to blind
The fickle mind
That caved straight in the moment it was given time

Me oh my!
Mercy me!
Something's descended from the tall pine tree;
It grew through my childhood;
It grew through my roof;
Straight up from the floor
A seed made for sorrow
All the life it could borrow
To make itself huger
Than huger
Than huge

Yet
What's this?
What gives?
It does? Does it give?
It has swayed for nine decades
(Nine and three quarters to be specific)
And now comes opportunity
Mystère Magnifique!
A future, a glimmer
Of reward and desire
Polished leaves, rough-edged shade
Up and up, up much higher

It is homely
Somewhat dusty
It bites and it barks
It is all of my past
It is parts of my parts
With its paints in my skin and its dust in my nose
There is no certain knowledge of just where it goes

Still
The brush keeps rewinding
Still the morning is lighter
Above me
Beneath me
That reward my desire
Pure and crisp and untouched by guilt
Untouched by those mornings all filthy in quilts
Different
And new

Between, through and through
I am higher
Mainly tired
Very saddened
Too inspired

For
I have been reaching
Past branches of branches
To make that glimmer of a concept
More than a concept
To make it constant
A stream, a beam
A dawn

But I yawn
Take myself to the woodwork
A frame on my back without borders
Or shame

Without quilts
Without comfort
Me and a tree
In a rain kissing sea
Cold
Sheltered

I stare down at the rooftops
And watch as my boot drops

A star has stowed away
In a part of my heart
The sky being this large, blunt chart
With the bright backbone: a strip of powder cloud
And the fussy dust beneath our boots
The chaparral under foot
Blooming purple, dry, splitting the cough drop earth
Red rock by rock
Our talking warms me
The taste of mint julep and tea
We, sweet past times: all they matter
Had a nail between us to hammer faster
There could have been curtains in our home
Were we grown;
Cantaloupe soaking in the sink
To string up at the brink
Think of how dry it got
The plants in their ***
Unwatered, untouched
Living as such--
Meanwhile, the clock combusted
Pounded out notes upon every hour
Its golden limb swinging up, lilting, wilting in its tower
Life deployed beyond this, grazing every flower
Their implicit movement stalls;
My nights wrapped in my shawls
Dark timber bark laments
In the fire so well spent
Rocking, I have remained here;
From the farthest port
You came with teeth and things
That fringe
Deliberate and outward bending, which scorches
Retires on porch swings
Shares time, stolen from what silent world may be out there
Bundled, told: "Handle with care."
But I do not care to pick at straws, or to stare
Between your eyes,
The lines beneath them
The calligraphic flourish
Touring deep, steeply descending
The tiled smile, pretending
Creaking, scarcely there and perishing;
I have not uttered your name
In the dark of this home
I have printed it, though, on occasion
In the pictures I hang
On the walls of this tomb
Painted path, fire we fashion
All the bits of compassion lodged like salt in my bones
Only thinking of your thoughts
Sipping slowly from your cup
Shuffling to the border in the corner of the world
Where the blooming sky is hastened
In its spatial recreations
That has fallen falls again,
Calling back, fiercely contend
Dynamics of a spark
A black hole tears itself apart
The where we are, the where we start;
Oh, Come the Day we might
Give less regard to light
Were I to move to where you are
Across the room, one room too far
It seems to me that I, in staying
Have distended what was fraying
Yet I stay- at least today
And may tomorrow bring the rolling, cetacean clouds back into orbit
May the sun fall with the rain
May my love call back again;
Once more, I think,
Once more.

"By the by,"
Said Owl to Fly,
"I caught you in Spider's web;
I spared you for
I loved you so
Though my love would like to have fled."

"I thought,"
Fly replied,
"That you would ask
Not for my gratitude
Nor for respect-
For what am I?
But a lowly black speck to you."

"You may be small,"
Owl's lovesick call
Was nothing short of determined,
"But then how can I
Expect love for
I feast on rats and vermin!"

"So! Ah! We are accursed us
Both meant for solitude:
Me for my size
(Disregarding the eyes)
You for your choice in food!"

"Although,"
Owl stated
Not one to be bated,
"Perhaps we are not so fixed
In five years, or eight
We may curse our fate
And wonder how we never mixed."

"But, I!" Said Fly

"But what?" Owl replied
"I tell you,
I've not been so enamored
Of something not furry,
Not likely to scurry,
Since my last supper's end in a clamor."

"So shall we?"

"We shall."

And Fly settled on Owl
And the two built a life of compassion
'Tween Fly's buzzing vibrations
Owl found a vocation
To reverberate love into fashion.