We are the kinds of people
who love first
(maybe against mountains
landscapes
mountainscapes)
fingerpick cherries
cherrypick at dawn
paint birds and blues and telephones.
Live in E
die in B
sleep in space.
Write of main characters
(but dream of antagonists
on planes
or fields further upstate).
Frame flowers before they have the chance
to wilt
stuff clothes into backpacks
sing along with church choirs
from the alleyway next door.
Imagine biography covers and post-war memorials
look at poetry like a lampshade
leave for fear of holding on
return in hopes of holding
(set sail for north woods
carry weight like hurricanes
steal moments for beggars
retreat as quickly as god)
stride past roads with cameras.
Stencil where we should sketch
finish with a flourish
lay by waterfronts
lie by stormfronts
take breaths like in movies.
Need like children
dream of signs
(road signs
shop signs
celestial signs
all are the same, all are the same)
climb heights to speak of majesty
climb down to think of it.
Witness each other's faces like
smatterings of people in cars.
Arrange alphabetically
depart dramatically
realize with horror
but abolish without difficulty
watch things fall apart
mix up the pieces
work without ethic.
(Things we get wrong we
right but things we get
right are already wrong.)
Wind up in books we've never read.
Change chords and regret the knowing
that we can never not know last.