Night Clouds
I crash land into the heart of summer. Avocados and chocolate save me for a moment. Waiting for cold fronts I watch the hours drain away into the gold sinks of evening. The cicadas turn to dark crystal one by one. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A sheaf of dark grasses. A door half open to the dawn. I clutch frantically at moons through an endless cusp of ancient shadows. Windows turn grey with rain, I taste rust and peach, my ghost already haunts the river bottom. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The thick light of old paintings pours from the stairwell. The ghost of pink roses lingers in the dark beyond the porch. I look straight up into a cat's face, and behind it, the moon. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sam alone with death I think of wine and silence skin of cool milk mist of angel's breath while lungs and woodwork rot and hallucinations rise from pools of boiling ink spiders and silverfish eat the world ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Still glass of evening. Gold whispers from some other sky. fall across the sparkling worlds. I suck on the throat of beauty before unending dreams end. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The hours thicken with cocoons of water. Time unweaves the same words, layer after layer. The air suddenly fills with silver gowns. The tongues of women glisten everywhere, a hand beckons to me from inside a tree. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dark sylph, made of river-light. Jewelweeds quiver at your slightest breath. Door after door of mist opens out of you. I lick the air, and murmur under the shadow of your tongue. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I look down the litany of moonlit streets, the endless silent rant of sky and concrete. Scraps of paper flare up in the gutters. Pine needles burn themselves into the eyes. Morning is still a million miles away. There is too much of everything everywhere. I listen carefully for the voice of the voiceless. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Pages gather the dark dust of old fantasies, of lace and laudanum, blood and white skin. People still move in photographs, and I'm still being chased by disembodied hair. Doves and giant machines fill the air with unreadable omens. A cicada's wing falls from nowhere. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ancient raindrops whisper on ancient windows of dust and lamplight. Staring at the bedroom ceiling, I think an hour has passed, but no, only twenty minutes, and the image of two mouths meeting won't leave me alone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Cool morning late July a sea-breath at the cusp of things goldness receding across the room alchemy of salt, breakers at night, heron shadows and at the edge of life avocados and silence ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Between the smoke-tree and the rowan we hid our wishes. We made paper from our dreams and ink from our astonishments. We drank coffee on the moon and we danced. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a stillness hangs in the dead streets mist and moonlight a sighing in the pines the town floats on nothing a breath of rose drifting on a tendril of your words a white poem fainting on the skin of the poem ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ night-clouds filled with the town's light float over this dream of white cats and your body the sun is still an hour away and moist lilies fill my mind with haikus of crystal and red lacquer someday I think soon the moon will blacken the coffee cup will fall from my hand and turn into the stardust of an August night long, long ago ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I feast on the dark salts and hoarfrost of memory, while the rain beats against the alabaster of dreams. Pages sigh. My ghost flutters under a pink skirt. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The katydids are everywhere. Bells ring between clouds. Crows stagger in the pine branches. I wish I was drunk. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I boil in my skull. Waves of childhood surge up out of the margins of the pages. Windowsills seethe. The eyes of dogs follow me everywhere. I scribble across the days these half written poems, in search of new inks to describe the death cries of the cicadas. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gnats and mushrooms appear in dank corners. A centipede scurries for the bathtub drain. The carpets are alive with insect ghosts. The apartment rots faster and faster, trying to keep up with me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I crave pure sleep, pages of silk, a drinking spree on Mercury. I watch from behind curtains, helmets, dragonfly wings. The blue earth is on fire. Alien nights fall on a lattice of words. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Childhood dreams of myth and glory became the need for something just a little sweet once a day. Flakes of gold fall onto everything from the luminous eyes of the tree frogs. That night, billions of stars powdered the trees. Woodnymphs brought clear wine and kisses of snow. Crickets laid the eggs of all my future poems.