you will visit me here, i know it,
so I'll shake the sand from my throat
and balm my lips until they float when I sing.
you haven't missed anything;
even if you'd met me when i had no bones
and boats were made from cherry stones,
there'd be nothing else to tell, not anything.
my soft right sleeve is alive tonight,
sparked up with little brushes from your hand.
i dare not move closer. i am subject to my own reprimand.
get me out of this silent duty room!
let me be gathered up in some holy fabric!
make the sky again seem so very big,
and barefoot, lured by a dusty wind, i will tumble out to the porch
and await you with palms facing upward.
i get long-necked and grow wings.
it's nice, again, to enjoy these things.
fate clicks her teeth at me as
he lies in bed, lies to me about reality-
"there is nothing real," & I agree;
nothing real! and yet I cling to a hope of grand destiny.
in my car, driving home, i could swear
i left the ground a bit, and moved through the air.
never once in all that time did i wonder if you were there.
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