It all breathes at the start,

there, the abandoned cart.

Here, the careless ease

the solitary fatigue

the softness of flight

your pupils alight

on a quiet road, winter night

the street light, on

then off, then on

then off, then leaves

in the breeze, circling

it all. The visceral silence

of autumn’s call.

And are you there yet,

asprawl in the lee

lighting a cigarette,

under the jacaranda tree.

Such comfort and ease

challenge love’s degrees –

its false guarantees of granting

you these.

You, that faceless name,

free as can be:

Soundless, ecstatic, dizzy,

sans fame.

As children do,

we’d dart through

thickets, crickets, into

the green. Unseen,

our bright wings

sprouted, (pert

with silver sheen), from our

bird-like backs, we’d

disembark into the sun,

glint, fire black hearts, on high,

glide, flip over, roll to one

side, then another, and

start over, on and on,

until youth smiled

a parting smile,

was well gone.

It’s time

to look at overcoats, primed

for populating Paris, in the winter.

Black umbrellas, last bastion of sanity-

pale sun, these sheets of rain, snow

throw them off kilter,

mortal gods, helm their world into dry vulgarity.

Sit by the window, ask no questions

don’t let the wind billow into

your heart’s dustbin.

Lipstick and coffee, cigarettes

clucking heels    true religion

All else feels

like there’s cause yet

for contrition.

Lazy radio, crackling.

Are you asleep again

in an angel’s wing

as it carries you quietly

to its private den.

Through waves and wisps

of Cumulonimbuses.

Their stratified ordering,

thundering fire bright

through atmospheres.

Wake, darkling, beast

wake now! How much

of the rain / you were

born to see! Not such

blackness of alien

comfort, not to this

degree. Wake! You, piss-

ant-upstart, born with an incessant

summer in the heart,

with cirrus wings to fly,

wake! Into the open sky.