there is all this tissue before
The Heart

poorly guided fingers     Reach
turning stones in their wake
freeing half-formed ideas

wading through
pools of inhibitions and
Fear and --
then

there is a Sunset

cheek-to-cheek with Missouri hills in the distance, tickling wildflowers with
bated breath
as you        
       Approach

there wasn't much of a struggle, only
a few words exchanged, one
shot fired      and

no one died.

my body remains, but I lost
my dominant hand, my left
foot

I learn to write again --
my hand grows steadier
with practice each
day

I lean
a little more to the right
than I used to

& the view from my window has changed.

from the first kiss of the day
to the last kiss at night
we smirkingly wring the grey waters of
Logic & Reason
from our Passion
(so that it smells like
newly-washed old
bed sheet
deeply rooted in  
Hole-y Memories
Faded 'I love yous'
Nostalgic 'We've done this befores'
and
Hopeful 'Let's do it agains'

where will your eyes lay me ?
on the edge of our bed, where years have folded our skin together
in a filter of light

or in some dark place that has yet to find us
in the damp afterplace of things unresolved--



I picture you turning,
my transgressions braided, trailing behind as your steps grow more and more    sure.


               --last

in  hibitions
these little horses we have yet to
re-saddle

                   --ride

beige sits in your skin, layers in
various shades. sometimes I mistake it for
pink, in the shadows

but no
mostly just
beige

--void

last night I had a poem inside me, I lost it on the highway
in the Christmas of red and white continuous light
on either side

there were other thoughts, in other cars - their webs spun & ready

the wind beat against my window, holding the tail of it --
"there's still time"  

but I just looked back at you, driving.
hands sure, your unsmiling lips somehow
still holding,
kind.

and remembered this sizzling, poppin' n' fizzing
feeling

and could have written
pages and pages and instead
just

burned