March 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014
I drive an icy valley towards you, where the mountains
alone’re worth a thousand errors; where trees
shake slowly as if on film. Earth’s curtains have built
a frame for us that for once I can’t act myself
out of. I tried to write our bodies in a play; but I confused
our parts; and had to try to flee the stage
under the gold, torn walls of the ballroom.
When we dance I understand an orbit’s pull and circle.
Ours is a life worth losing; let’s unlace it
from its post and see what creature it becomes.
I fear our brains’ geology: their strike-slip faults;
their symmetry. But when driving
an island to see you, the roads open
the earth. And I want to know no other.
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March 26, 2014