when humans could fly, we knew the difference
between a river and a lake. we knew that time
doesn’t count well but rather it wears,
it eddys and it grinds. we knew that
the difference between waiting and hoping
is that one is a prayer. when everything was
settled in the i-and-i and if you were pushed
out or over the cuckoo’s nest, well,
you’d just get your footing on the ground.
and that’s what happened.
i wouldn’t say that i believe that somebody
will find you, but if you forget your name,
if you’re dreaming too far, it’s the same
as hoping to wait for somebody to shake
your shoulders, yank the covers back.
in another life i was a clump of beach grass,
i was a golden grain and then i was
the dune itself. in another life i was
the sleeve cut off of a t-shirt; i frayed
and became a rag, i was burned and blown away
and breathed by you when you were learning to
speak your first words. (this i remembered when
i fell into your smile) the earth pushes up as much
as we are pulled down; as a breeze it wasn’t so.
still i am drawn outward like an open syllable,
torn into clouds by the sun’s light.
