I'm Fine

Alone to write or maybe to make a space

for the things that are not allowed.

He says he'll be right up but I'm selfish

and fine.

There is more than combustion involved.

That is the only promise I can make and mean it.

The night breaks down into barking dog

chaos with the sky on fire and deep cannon

blasts raining over clapping crowds in awe

of what they do not know.

Please tell me you have fireflies

in July and woodsmoke in October

and evergreens

in February. Please tell me the color

of the blanket on the floor and the temperature

of the river that carries your glance

and the sound your steps make on the old wooden bridge.


find a way to say what was never meant to be

said. Betokened.

She asks me to go to Connecticut in August and I would.

But what if I love it. What if I stay.

The sea.

And what if I visit Amherst and walk around with coffee

under the summer's late sun visiting

graves and other points of interest?

The poem is not the poem and

the visit is not secure. Yet the words birth the sentences

as the placenta ruptures on the heirloom table

my parents used to have in their dining room

at Gun Lake.

Thinking is not thinking

and I'm done