Crane.

plastic selves and the insides
of broken knees,
staring into neighbors'
mirrors i blame my emotional
issues on you and waterfalls:
if it weren't for both,
my cheeks wouldn't be wet.


number two erasers and
pencil wood between my teeth,
i calligraphy some Mozart
and Eliot i left at the other house
onto the ends of my words,
hoping for a little more grace
than i've always got:
half to impress You,
and whole to let Us breathe.

empty pavements and dimming
headlights,we go to bed when
we're awake, and awake when
we're tired, promising one day:
it will be better.
one day, it will all be Good.
because all of this feels like a dream
i've had, but can never remember,
and Yours is the only face
i want to hold at night.

Mystery.

Mystery rides her waves up the sidewalk
and her stilts down the hall,
catching fireflies just to taste the release
of letting them go.
she dances with the cat,
is the cat, kitten, purring
inside the lawn mower at the hand of your father,
inside your hands,
your father.
Mother resting on a mattress in the room,
unmoving only resting, dreaming,
exhaustion,
we're all exhaustion
and burnt life cycles,
condensed cans,
routine-by products.
Love at the next door,
yearned-gravitated past months,
glints, light, move 17 months
forward, back,
"but it's ok, because it tastes as good the second time."
I am a broken magnifier,
clocks smashed, hurried to keep the lawn mower, mowing,
buzz to keep the mama sleeping,
breathe to keep the lover, loving.
Stop.
Again.
Stop.
Again.
Stop.
Again.

Snap.

Now I am the mystery.
Yet still, I cannot tell how I keep you together and all alive.

there's something about
the way a cat's whiskers
brush the back of my neck
that reminds me of
honeysuckle mornings and your arms.

note to self:
tracy chapman's voice,
will always get my soul.
we will destroy ourselves if we don't agree.

i heard once that if
you couldn't hear my heartbeat,
it meant i was too far.

now--
i realize if i can't hear yours,
feel yours, breathe to the tone of yours,
there is no rest.
little life.
little light.

i guess it is as death cab says---
i need you so much closer.
than down the street.

nearly one year ago, today,
i was getting ready for what
would be the start of this whole thing.
nearly one year ago, today,
the air felt like moving and
all the thoughts inside my crowded head
felt like that song about fireflies
and ocean waves.
my skin felt younger.
untouched, but, safer. brighter.
nearly one year ago, today,
i knew what it was to have my whole
body jointed, without all this
tripping i've been doing lately.
which is why when i walked into the
morning this time, i got a little bit caught--
because this air felt like a year ago.
and this air felt like the time we
danced around ideas. hoping. holding.
and this air felt like the moment we
climbed into an escort to head to the coastline,
where you were going to eventually take away everything.

nearly one year ago, today, i stumbled upon
something that still eats at my skin.
and heaven knows how bad i wish i never had.

march.

"I always have to be
really tired in my
soul for this to work,
right?" she said.
i couldn't look her in the eye.
i didn't want her to be right.
"I always have to be
really tired and half-way
undone to get the voice back
that really talks.
you ever think about that?
you ever think about there
being something that keeps
you from talking like one of
those one way mirrors--
where you can see your words,
but they sure as hell can't.
and no matter what your fight,
you know they'll never feel it."
"feel what?" i asked.
she kept folding, kept placing,
kept packing her things into the
suitcase she picked from the yard
the week before and answered me just
like another fold in her dress--easy--
"feel, your heart beating in your mouth.
feel your meaning in the curves of the letters.
feel the wandering in your mind as it
crashes into your heart."
i didn't want to tell her I was afraid
of that. i didn't want to tell myself
i was afraid of that. so i shifted
my seat and tugged at the braids
on the couch.
"oh, i don't know. maybe."
"that's gotta be how it is, Em.
it gotta be."
she was going in a day and a half, now.
i was resisting it, but more avoiding.
because i knew she got it,
and i know she had me.
and i knew when she left all i'd have
left was losing. and more than the notion
that someone might not feel our hearts beating,
i couldn't stand the thought of not having
something good around to break my falls.

drops.

it drops to the floor.
one-two-three
she breathes before she
bends her aching frame toward
the tile to retrieve it.
what it was, she could
never tell.
she just knew she needed it.
in her hand.
in her palms.
in the spaces in her heart
that never really filled
at the end of the day.

that was what she was reaching.
aching. wanting.
needing.
but instead, all she felt,
was the dust on her fingers.
the dust on her fingers from
the tile.
and a dream she always
swore wouldn't grow cold.
but did.

Wild Horses.

She slid behind that curve in his back
And lifted him up between her knees.
She felt him lean back against her chest
As she made her shoulders meet the backs of his,
Connecting her hands in that intertwine-way.

"I've been listenin' to that song about wild horses,"
She said in his ear, as her eyes
Rested on that spot above the top
Of the apartment with the cloud-high white
Ceilings she always dreamed about.
She gently rested her heart and her gaze
On that same place as he asked,
"Oh yeah?" But he already knew the answer.
He already knew they both needed more than this.
"Yeah," she said, easing her breath and her
disappointment into the same word.
"Why do you think that is," he inquired.
"Same reason it always is," she said.
"Same reason we get frustrated these days
And talk about runnin' away to California?
That same reason?"
"Yeah, it's always that," she said.
"I've just got too much of it, baby.
I've just got too much for a place like this."

He leaned back a little bit farther,
Resting in that he had her,
Glad she always said everything
He'd been thinking all day.
"I know, baby," he whispered.
"It's just that today I've been thinking about it,
And everytime I breathe, it feels like---
We could fly away."

They both sighed, and held a little tighter.

"It's just that, you give me strength, you know?
And now that I have it, I gotta use it."
He sighed and followed,
"I know. I know that too."
"What if we just did it?" she said.
"What if we just ran away?"

Breathing in them both he whispered,
"But baby, we already have.
We've already run away from those things."
"What if I need to be farther?" she asked.
"Then you know I'm coming with you."
"Good," she hesitated, "Because you know I need you."
"Then let's go?" he asked to the center of her eyes.
"Let me just pack a few things first?" she tried.
"Of course," he said.
And she began to stand, putting weight
On the feet and arms that had been waiting
To be free for some time now.
Heading for the suitcase, she couldn't help
But sigh a smile--
This would be the end of sad song on the radio, year.
She could feel it.

today is a song.
in the throat.
that i always need.
when i have to flight.

Considering the history of "you's" and "i's"

i'm not really sure how long this will last
[[considering the history of "you's" and "i's"]]
and the nature of restless mixed with
discontent. hint of boredom.
lack of all that's necessary,
but the taste of potential.
caught. caught. caught.
in the skin,
under every thought.

i don't know how long
this "without"
[[considering the history of "you's" and "i's"]]
mixed with need for rest
and life at multitudinous
increments will last in the
surge of need. surge of desire.

i don't know how long
this business of "apart"
[[considering the history of "you's" and "i's"]]
is going last before my desperate fingers
begin ripping at the walls and seams
of the place that keeps my heart
from being where it
has to be.
to breathe.

Myth.

it was supposed to be
one when
you came around the first, right?
it was supposed to be
when i spoke you left
around the second, right?
it was supposed to be one
when we evaporated
into the nothing we
were destined for, right?
they say this is,
just like those, right?
but i threw away that pen, odysseus.
you gotta be more, a Darcy.
me, a Siddhartha.
right?

Right.

Missy came in panels
of coffee table as
your voice drifted from
the shower curtain.
Rumbling outside.
Little lights where i rest.
I finally caught it.
This feeling.
Of Right.

Air.

i peer out the window and
it melts into snow off the gutters
and spouts and car-shields as
it runs into sun-clouds and
azure thoughts and light that
catches on the edges of skin
that hasn't seen hope in
months. dear.
and the fire holds the corner
of my eyes. always.
as the daisy circles around
my view admonishing back,
approving forward.
and today my lungs feel a little
more capable as my steady,
anxious feet.
and in reflections i see the
cat mounting to places on the sink
that we tell her she's never to go.
and i watch as subtlety washes the
age off the gates in her thoughts
and tells herself this is going to be a new time.
and all this hour i can't help but feel melting.
and feel that things are newer.
and feel that for once i'm not really running,
but instead may have somehow found the
exact place i've needed to be--
home.