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.