Friday, March 10, 2006

Clash t-shirts

Middle of the night sweat
moody silence of sleeping things
so quiet
holding hands with imaginary lovers
across sleep
enough to send me checking e-mails
and forgetting to forget

steeped in no waking breath
and brittle bones of rainstorms
and clash t-shirts
across damp skin

make me form
heavy words
across the sunsting of my revelations
across happiness
come pinecones and puddles
that drown out
sand dollars and
hydro glass from old Douglas Firs
somewhere outside of Whistler
where we stopped

where I have never

paces of the mind
and places of the body
that I forget to remember
so I may broach solitude
with the lifting up of me

beyond disappointment
are bone-white shells
from the Queen Charlottes
that still line the walls of my studio.
Still.

Even though I am new things
like brick buildings
and awareness
concrete
dog fur
and prayers.

Still.

There are the mountians in me
full of the silence of snow
and white rocks
beside old hydro roads.

Where I ghosted you
when I dropped you at the station
beyond the heroin addicts
and ragtags
so you could take a train
to see a bullfight.
hoding my poems in your heart like a host.

Still.
You are here still and always
A murmur beside my heart
when
on strange occasions I forget to
forget
the taste of your salt
the hope of your love
between sleep and awake
I find you
sometimes still

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