Untitled Poem #174

thank you
for saving me
from freezing
to death in the depths
of my heart;
any more pain would have
frozen it through,
making it so brittle
that even a kind glance
would have fractured it
into too many pieces to restore
to the glory I am warm in
with you and a whole heart.

Untitled Poem #173

sometimes I finger the scars on my heart
in the dark, all alone,
rough ribbons of hardened tissue;
they are braille lines of poetry;
railroad tracks to remind me of my innermost fears.
They feel almost skeletal,
and read like the scriptures of God,
and sting like the scorpions of God.

Untitled Poem #172

This inexplicable heaviness of my heart
comes when it understands
and the remainder of me doesn’t;
yet it holds the responsibility,
and everything else must follow.

Untitled Poem #171

wow Michael what a way to get back into
writing in your poetry journal:
a little scotch,
a little blood,
a little scotch in your blood,
[a little blood in your scotch]
and you’re back to begging
that it’s all over.

Untitled Poem #170

lost in the dark,
sometimes I sit down wherever I am
and wait for the morning to come,
stealing through the thick air
and lightening the darkness,
like highlights in your hair.

Untitled Poem #169

we write poems when our tongues tie
together in my mouth, behind your lips;
unspoken words like unnoticed snow
in the shade of a tree in the high mountains.

Untitled Poem #168

the stars swim down
through wicker-woven clouds
to say goodnight to your beauty.
I say goodnight to your beauty,
too, though I wish I was a star like you,
exploding over millions of miles
or quietly winking from farther away.

Untitled Poem #167

I sing and I sing and I sing
to you of dreams I’ve had
and notions that came to me
while I watched you sleeping
and I sang them softly
to you into the little cup of your ear
which never overflows;
it listens and holds all of my nonsense,
but only while you’re sleeping.
only while you’re sleeping.

Untitled Poem #163

when the dew-drops poise
on blades of grass I like to
wait until they fall
before I kiss your smooth brow
when I must wake you from sleep.

Untitled Poem #162

yet, never alone, the company
of those who flicker candle-flames
always keep me entertained
with wishing you were here.