300 steps,
vertical to a magnificent light
a DNA-like staircase where the banister is gripped,
all composes a structure that has guided countless ships in the night.
The top is sad,
a reminder that providing safety is a lonely endeavor.
We’re all fatherless children with a single-mother lighthouse serving as our shelter.
The keeper
but a boy without the sense to lock up,
leaves the sanctuary open to a thrill seeker,
who shuts out the light and makes sure this sailor never wakes up.
Diffuse emissions
nebulosity cluster
trapezium core
Verdant hues hinted
crimson conditions contain
Great violet visions
A spectral wavelength
molecular dust dispersed
complex fog forming
I stand,
drinking in the delicious
hues of green
rising and falling in the distance.
Face laid bare
to the setting sun,
my head tilts back –
ever so slightly –
eyes close momentarily
as warm summer wind whips
my hair
carelessly against my cheeks.
There is a gentle hush
that falls at dusk
on June evenings.
I stand,
and revel,
and lose myself
in the embrace of a warm breeze.
i try not
to reread
the texts you send
we both act
like it’s fine
purposefully
changing
the subject
moving on
and pretending
that
there’s nothing
between
u s
One
Remembering the safari films the local pharmacist would show to various groups on Friday nights: I turn away before the shot comes. When they are gone, when in our greed we’ve killed them all, what will we kill next? What happens when we come to us, alone but for livestock and pets?
Two
How does any parent, even in anger at their partner, accidentally beat a four-year old girl to death? How does anyone dump that body, entombed by a black garbage bag, in a rural roadside ditch?
Three
If you don’t take your own life before the police bring you down, please tell me how the eight people you just shot caused you to lose your job, your house, your spouse and children, a bet, a fight, your temper, your humanity.
Four
Argue as you will the merits of war. Of self-defense. Of a hierarchy of evil. Tell me of blind rage and insanity. I’ll grant you every foolish reason, just to clear the smoke from the field.
Now, stick to the question: In our daily lives, how do we come to this?
Like a sloth hanging onto a tree
Like a person standing on the subway
Like a kid going down a fireman’s pole
Like the customer service person says over the phone
Like standing on a boat in a stormy sea
Like the quote you read on tumblr said
Like a kid holding that $3 balloon
Like I keep telling myself
“Hang on”
To the good,
To what matters
To the life you want
To who you want to be
To hope
To whatever you want to hold on to.
Hang on.
it’s called animism, she explains
her eyes wandering as she tells me
how everything has a soul
the mixtape i made her
skids, skimming to the next song
her house is all things
a history of her, scattered
i even grow to love the dust
in her window sills
it’s proof she was there
i go home with two worn books
thinking of all the hands
that have cracked their spines
i ask her, are you sure it’s just one?
the unnamed one, I mean The Unnamed One, I mean, Chlorophytum comosum
AKA Spider plant
also known as arachnid, tarantula, wanderer
of the
smeltery, distillery, a being … posed.
positioned, just so, to know
in the flow of their mane of spiderlets
and tendrils
and bottomless grace
Great
–and terrible–
things
If you ask The Unnamed One what kind of animal they want to be, you will feel the faint tickle at the nape of your neck.
Like a lover. Like a snuggle.
But cold.
They know there is power in the naming of things. Of displacing the norm of disclosure of trivia.
Only a
Fool.
Goes where everybody knows their name.
On the sacred and profane, they keep their own counsel.
… you know, I’ve not fallen once since they came home?
If you ask me what kind or animal I want to be, I might end up giving you my social security number.
I am not great at this game.
The Unnamed One waits.
Protects.
Sees.
And does not waste their time with games such as these.
But
Sometimes, in the silent web
wrapping
us in their orb of unimaginable protection
It’s too quiet to hear, but almost …
–I am a lion, already–
After two days of rain,
one and a half inches,
the strawberries are seated
and readying for next season.
The new asparagus roots
reach down and up
at the same time,
something we do every
monday and wednesday
in downward facing dog,
although
the basement is always dry.
