the moon slipped lower
heading straight for the hills

it became a red swinging thing
marking our moving places along the valley

the shifting was addictive
as the living ground and sky transformed

we were left alone
with remnants we wove into tales of escape

the moon took our voice
and forced a song of release

my corner is cluttered
with bits and colors
like a spiritual bodega
pressing bohemia hard
into the space between

it gets so crowded
with layers of notes
a boof of hushed tones
no one can see or guess
what’s behind the mess

worse than a meadow
with pressed day-glow parking lines
is a tired disguise ruined
from the inside brewing
maps flutter and fade in the breeze

With the greying of olives,
I realize I don’t know where you are
or if you can laugh at all,
like I do at bodily functions
and the thematic illusion of time.

I imagine a tryst
involving coffee, a train schedule,
and a little light.
Would you let me love your troubles away?

biting my lip, trying not to breathe too deeply
the synthetic fibers and cracked porcelain
that haunt my unfortunately jaunty steps;
looking out a dingy window
it’s all steam and wistful sorcery

no swirl of smoke
nor cacophony of greasy colognes
can stake away his imprint:
a rich handful of earth thrown high,
a growl of wind,
whiskers carving a zen garden on my face

sometimes I like to take springtime
with tea and light rain
though it doesn’t have the heft
or the smutty glory of coffee
that he brings with beloved autumn

It keeps raining
but we stay neat
in crinoline and muffled brass

A thumping
lighter than steam engines

I see a yawning room
curved with all the dancing
and oh! how we sway

Sparkling
before it’s all gone

It’s for us
the dangling melody
escorting us to dreamtime