Our sweaty hands
Reached up and pulled them as they waved,
Fistfuls of summer leaves
Whose veins ran cool through
Green apple skin and
Soft undersides.
We held them up
Until our skin turned pink
And the sun spun purple in our eyes.
Around our fingers, each leaf curled,
Then with sun rays fell
And stayed a while in our front yard.
We’re a pair
Of ocean ears.
The pattern of the tides are
Seared in shadows
Cast by flesh-colored curves
Of seashell cartilage.
Nerves drift
In seaweed clusters
Beneath our skin’s sparkling surf while
White cotton buoys dance with shark fins,
Swabbing the salt sounds
That swirl between us.
We are not significantly
Genetically
Different than starfish.
Basically besides development,
We’re emphatically
The same.
We swim in wind
And spin
With all five points into the blue.
And nothing’s new
And we’re not old
Under the sun.
When I die
I think I’d like to
Dry out on warm sand,
Then when as hard as bones,
On sea foam
Float away.
Trees and tries
Leave a pile of the leafy dead
When the season comes around.
Brown sounds reach,
Crinkling with each slinky stretch,
Then settle like dust
Beneath so many shoes.
There’s a bridge between us
But it’s stone and cold
And too close to rushing water.
You just got off work and
My rain boots have holes
And we’re forever sons and daughters
Of tomorrow and yesterday.
So simply send me paper airplanes
Or throw boomerangs
As far as you can.
After the drum beats of severance,
A second where the soft things scream-
Butterfly wings rip from metallic seams,
Crocheted blankets feel the scissor blade,
Breath’s surface blisters into a sigh.
Wake me up
With a solo on pink rubber band strings,
Sing softly a Jamaican hymn,
Rub your cool gold rings
Across my forehead
And splash stained glass
Colors across my toes.
Gently dip me in life,
Dye me beautiful.
We started to tile
Our arms and legs
In cold blue
Porcelain squares,
Unaware that
Dust, to skin,
Is gentle,
But each soft speck
Will come cracking down
In sledgehammer strokes
On the thinnest of
Finished, protective surfaces.
Riding the highway rumble strip
Slowly to feel each rise and drop.
Both windows down,
Warm night air hugs the sound of
Tires straddling the black
Perforated edge of goodbyes,
Stop and go breeze whistles
Between each finger
That dares to test life
Away from the steering wheel.
Radio static turns thoughts
Into black and white confetti,
Into missing puzzle pieces
And the quiet notes of the
Chorus,
Bridge,
Chorus.
My memory of you
Floats in the river in the woods
Behind my house.
It sings louder than the water
Washing it smooth
And warms the leaves’ arthritic hands,
It heals me too.
jacsprat 