from downtown
back to your door
we swing brown bottles
and warm our salty skin
while you ache to bookmark
the middle of this july-

(your road is stretched long and far
but i know where it goes)

-we already know the summer
as it settles over salt and coats the land
and cups our skin

-its dust repeats itself
shamelessly
and drives us to porches
and brown bottles
and your ninth cigarette
and unrequited conversation-

(my mind splits itself up
when every second is stagnant-
when somewhere else keeps calling-
when my violent beast starts snarling)

and then five thirty
looks like so many violets-
queen anne's lace and cattails-
all the bouncing bees
and thrushes-

-the fields aflush with
full grains and hairs and fibers
and all the murmuring voices-

-is screaming
and so wanted
and away from the road
we walk on
(this road-
one of yours)

-looks less believable
with every step-
(the road is stretched long and far
and you know where it goes)

i could not tear away from it
to keep my eyes on your road-
you swig from all your bottles-
you follow the dust?-
can we be lions instead?

did you know there is no road?
we need only taste the air,
or glean the wind