You caught me on the edge of a dream

With the razor blade sharpness of paper

And the snapping shut of a book.

I don’t know how to apologize

For playing the upright piano of your heart,

Pouring sand in all your shoes,

Or hiding your favorite shirt out in the rain,

But I’d like to make an offer,

Gift wrapped in blue and green,

Of every good dream I’ve ever had.

So even when I’m pushed off a cliff,

Sinking below the surface of the South China Sea,

Or cracking tears out of the side of a crystal cage,

I’ll know that you are out

On a sailboat with my family,

Floating through cumulous clouds

And chomping on thunderbolts

With a smile on your face.

Everything is waking up

And shaking off the evening.

Squirrels on the power lines

Drinking electricity.

They run the maze of rubber tubes

That stretch above my street.

The Cardinal joins in watching them

From his home behind the tree.

He darts about and shoves his snout

Into the fresh-turned leaves.

Everything is waking up

And shaking free from darkness.

The sun fights first to break the spell,

And we all follow suit.

The Raven cries, but joyful-like

And gulps in all the light.

The Mocking Birds will chase him off

Even now, so early in the day.

Everything is waking up

And making the best of things.

When you are done

Counting the shells

Of broken concrete

By your favorite corner,

I beg you to gather

All the shards into one place,

Set the oven to 365 degrees,

And bake them all

Together.

While you wait

For dinner,

Maybe you could answer

My latest letter

And end my three month stasis

Of thought and heart.

Don’t think to rush

Though.

The casserole is burning,

And your teeth are hurting.

While you try to chew

Through all that weight,

Maybe think of the paintings

In your house,

Their brushstrokes,

And the lonely blokes

Who gave them meaning

After giving them to you.

The road back to where you came from,

Litter blowing and sounding out its chimes.

You’ve been here before.

You’ll be here again.

There is no shame in taking stock.

There is no fame in staying locked.

Sure, you may stumble

Over yearbook pictures,

Under the weight of

Old love letters,

A thousand days of the same exact weather,

But in these things, you learn your ways,

Your own specific taste,

What makes you think

And brings you to the brink

And brings the power to keep pushing on.

So no, there’s nothing wrong

With listening to last year’s song

And putting your feet on a well-worn path,

Because a road will always have its end.

Raise your sail and blow,

Blow away with the wind.

The trick to breathing under water,

They say,

Is to fool the brain into fooling

The lungs.

To measure out synapses in minutes

And knots.

If you spend enough time underneath

I think,

The water gets to be invisible

And clear,

And time slows down like glacier melt.

I want

The ability to make things stop

Like that

Whenever I choose, whenever I please

And not

Only when I get so close to drowning.

Heartbeat

Gets loud rambunctious and angry.

The times

I’ve had all blur together and the water

Clouds up.

Pure art with no ambition.

You dance around your kitchen,

Spilling salad on the tiles,

Not letting yourself get tired,

Praying only to yourself

And the family photos on the shelf.

Watered-down wine,

A clock that can’t hold time,

And me sitting at the table

Sure I’ll never be able

To slide around on bare feet,

Shrug off the extra hour of sleep,

Make the moments count without question,

And wait for joy to set in.

I’m too busy watching you

To search for any other truth

Like the boiling point of water,

Or Billy Collins’ alma mater.

I will refuse to tussle

With whether or not

The heart is just a muscle.

I bring along with my basket

So full of dirt and earthworms

Speaking the ancient language

Of the first Mother.

She has a frown.

She keeps it in her front pocket,

buttoned up,

Not too tightly, I’m sure,

Always ready, anxious and willing

To draw it, lightning quick

When the bell tower strikes

High noon, and I drop my basket.

Brother, bring me all your books.

I want to read your thoughts

All left in margins on the right,

The insight that you wrought

From words pressed in the steel

Of printing press and author’s will.

You’ve gathered all the pieces

And made your own true painting still.

If all we are is what we choose

To wholly own or just in part,

I know that I could learn your mind

And find myself inside your art.

We aren’t so different, you and I,

And how we think, so similar,

Even our shoes would feel the same,

Foot-to-foot and sinister.

Sequoiadendron giganteum

You’ve grown much taller than  me,

Stronger too, with thicker skin

And a head closer to the sky

Where I’m sure

You can see so far,

Clearly and without the pain

Of memory.

You’ve had more time than me

To make your joy

And peace

And shrug off every doubt

Like last year’s leaves.

Do you teach a class

On the types of growth?

The air is smoother now than yesterday.

I wish it was because I heard her say

Something sweet, maybe kind, or anything

At all.

I turn my head at every passing sound.

Could have sworn that her voice came trembling down

From untrodden precipices, ice-bound

And melting.

Is the beat beneath your heart firm and loud?

What’s the trick to keeping your head unbowed?

I’ve tried stainless steel and art museums,

Tried it all (and more).

There is but one trick I have left alone

For noble reason, rest assured, for none

Of what I truly want is found outside

Her beauty pure.