The Reaching
The window’s boundary
Staggered
Eager stars, their mounted arms
Surround the opening
Glistening reach for
A brief window-sized peak as dark sides find themselves as the ends of the same table
Inside—what’s inside—the opening
Unfinished Man
Tumbleweed brambled words
Made to look like man
So close, I could hear crackling from outer space
An endangerment
The many arms of dream stuff
—somewhere between silver, soft, gold
A linked, living ornamentation
—opposite ends of a revolution
Caught in a daylight séance
odd items
A home-movie hovers
Crashing charges
—stale sweat memory confetti
Last chance was on my mind
One that had bled to death on a concrete floor
No man found it for a week, not until
An unbearable smell moved-in to my rattletrap
Fingers on my shoulders
—across the table
fossilized children in the attic
We take a walk
—rawboned in the sun’s rays
Accidents enclose black patterns
stolen sun
pillow coward
Above the table
Before the window closes, the Silver She tells me
You fell in love with Bacchus over biceps
Romance safely on stage, nowhere near your heart
The image of man * the words of man * the touch of man
Given by not man of the stage
You don’t live on stage You
Watch it and leave when the theatrics stop
The moon says
The show is over
The moon says
It’s time to stop playing not woman
I left
I didn’t say good-bye
No man was ever there
Arms of starstuff pull tightly together into an enormity
Into the blue-black sky, they rise
truth imitators
near the truth
Silver shine on the ass of my sorrel mare
Forestal action beneath
All eyes rise to the Queen of Tides
—water cure
You I love
36