the physics
of sound in fog;
a sense of muffling

today, my skin doesn’t fit
and the air is rubbing me
the wrong way

I feel a willful nonchalance
about time and direction
-a relief after chasing them so long

a settling of hums in the trees
as we forget flight awhile
and look to what makes a home

not knowing where to go
or who to be or what to do next
is a sixth dimension problem

at the end of things
-if there are endings-
we are One in the Fog

I don’t know how we reminisce
about times we haven’t had
but it feels like we come together
at a point when what converges
is a mess of unseen wires,
colorful emotions, and a song
that sounds like a night bird
celebrating the moon.
I have little sense of where
my feet are landing lately
and no idea what tomorrow
will look like out my window.
The seasons are changing
within and without.

It’s just a chair.
You talked and I listened
mostly, though I watched as much
as I heard. Your eyes and hands
are so eloquent.
You sat mostly still, though I squirmed
imagining how we’d fit in that chair.

A generous bit of planning
that furniture maker had, though
it seems there was a “higher” purpose
for such a piece lovingly carved,
though I can think of no higher purpose
than what we are.

Later, when I think back, I wonder
how the pieces of conversation will fit:
patterns, emotions, history, the way
light hit your face, our laughter, the way
my toes curled at your gaze
as I talked, knowing you really heard me.
You were almost regal in that chair
and I felt like I was in a genie’s lamp,
ready to be dusted off and unleashed.
Was this just another daydream?

A faint ticking of the clock
in the next room
and we’re fading
from each others’ view.
Blackout curtains
and a battle not forgotten.
Elephants dance the tango
or maybe it’s perspective,
like strapping in or on
and grabbing a spoon,
having at it when a moon is ready
to fall from orbit.
I don’t know what to make of it
when there are no tears left,
only a hunger and an ache
where important things used to rest.
We dance on a quiet planet,
beyond moonrise and fall,
or maybe it’s just a dream.