carry it with you

the things in my pocket:

gum, keys, phone
receipts, a little money
cards, step counter, ear buds

are the things I need
not the things I want

the things I want:
breath, youth, love, power, fame

need to be closer
for instant access

talking street

walking by a tree
that looks like a bush
stepping into the street
a cat in the road
so still
takes a dash
to the dark grass

further down
a streetlight
tells a red car
that it’s not as young
as it used to be

and on the corner
by the house
where the coach
once lived
a stop sign stands
at attention

it’s unanimous
the neighbors I knew
as a young man
are all gone

I know the story
of each disease

I drive this old street
each day
and notice nothing

but this night
(walking a pace
that helps me
finish quicker)
it’s all brand new

more

things that block light
trees mostly
absorb me
like soft butter
on hot toast

the heat
takes a minute
comes inside
crawls in the gut

a hunger
for something out there
something that’s missing

a thirst
between summer sky
and dry dirt
on which
I barely can walk

it grows

it grows
like fruit
from the tree
of large roots
knowing some
limbs are dead
a massive
meaty seed
straining for
heat of sun
caring
about those
it touches
trying
to live

long walk

halfway
and half again

that’s where
you’ll find me

between a high lake
and a low stream

on a path
of wet dirt

around the curve
near a blast of sunset

if spring

if the truth of spring
is a blossom so bright

that purple turns gray
when the sky is too blue

and the tree that trades
its height for color

while green gives motion
to trunk too old

then you are the same
when winter leaves

and i am the rain
when you feel sun

reaching

only crazy birds eat meat and
drink too much alcohol
just after they notice
coming from the left
overhead
a song

a song with long notes
sorrow in a deep
darkening
navy
sky

so it is with my years
now less than more
but reaching high
from the spout
to the open
end of this
funnel

dusk

dusk is my time

everything changes
from lack of light

tree trunks muted
become smoke

a thousand
black twigs
cut a royal sky
into a puzzle

frogs scream
geese wail

distant lamps
become stars
they poke holes in water

these things are not so rare
yet these things I want for you

healing

bedroom gray
the last bulb pulls sparks
against the dim

she, cold fever in bed
sucks hard for air

in the kitchen
smiling children
gobble eggs and crazy wine

while they argue
and vote
about the length
of fingernails

nobody hears
her weak voice
beg for a doctor