Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Weekdays

A beauty of youth
is burning into the fire,
waking up.

Looking back into the spring,
springing our bones
into the street.

I was built to cry
on Sundays:
movies into sunsets.

I see turtles
floating, you hear horns outside.
We think the same thing.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Pouring Over

We house anticipation
to match the water set to boil
and await our coffees
to bring it all together again.

Things are okay for us
all over the years
things are okay enough
to not mention in letters.

Coffee is up and we clamor
to share this time, over,
like we used to outside,
like we would on the porch.

We would sit then in the morning,
legs crossed and sincere, cigarettes burning,
our tree that we never thought about,
but loved nonetheless, shielding us.

We are not smoking now
and should be hugging
but for the years, but for
coping without one another.

It’s okay, of course,
because things are okay
and we even spill about
dreams coming true, seeing.

Our empty cups lay
next to one another,
rings aged calmly like our eyes
and it’s good to be together.