Someday I will leave
the cold sea

Leave its dark quiet wake
like all the long nights
I've forgotten

I will go sleep
on the soft shoulder
of the mountains

Watch her hands
cupping the moon

Somewhere west
of these frozen sad dunes

Say goodbye to the cry of the gull
and the bluewater wind I love

that leaves me feeling so cold.

Two fishing poles, a feather,
a leather jacket with holes
on both elbows, forty-four
dollars and change in
an envelope, some dope,
a pair of worn out cowboy boots,
a clay flute shaped like a bird
that can't whistle a tune worth a lick,
an unused bus ticket, a picture
of two kids laughing pretending
to fly; an eyelash in my eye.

I like to trace the lines
and the golden fine hair
right there in the dip
above her hips and her ****
like dust on a guitar
that needs playing.

Last night I read your poem
in bed instead of writing
like I'd said I would.  I
had to start over twice
because my eyes aren't
as good as my heart
when it comes to stopping
and starting at pauses
heavy with losses.  Lost
causes and me seem to be
your specialties. Especially me.

Oh, come on you black-eyed
***** Night. Spite me
with sleep. Strike me, like
a cottonmouth. Sing me
your dark song, like a footfall 
in my hallway, like a night watch-
man dropping his lantern,
a last turn of the fan, a whisper
of a mystery, a kiss with wisteria
and moonshine on your breath.

I miss the holy ghost of her smile.
The silhouette of her head in the night
on my pillow. Her beauty alight.
  
She was rain on my fever. Rain
through my window. An innuendo
of heavenly morning light. Heart heavy
as the moon on its way to Montana
  wearing my blue bandana.