Who are you
When the wind stops its restlessness
And lies calm and dormant at your feet?
In the dark there are melodies and voices in the sounds of the house, the motors in the fans, the working of the mattress and blankets
The blind and its window are cracked the width of a finger open
A knife of air strikes your face from it. It's good. It is
Moonswept lighthouse water
Cable knit sweaters
Shy upturned nose
Crows feet across
The snow mixed with sand
They'll be wanting us back at the house
But we have a moment to pull your hair ribbon and wrestle the wind.
At seconds before midnight
The clock is too bright
The tick it too loud
The pants sit too low
The color is wrong
The hair not quite right
The breath a bit off
The words ill chosen, the sentence badly formed
The thoughts tainted
The heart ok
The intentions as purely as deeply as can be scrutinized
The names forgotten
The river of love drained
The nail driven
The humidifier is on
The bed vast and uncrossable
The quatarre depression gets us all in the end.
With warm hair twisting
You fell asleep
Against my back
You're silent now
For the first time today
I can hear my tinnitus
And the clock
The wind outside
I'm up again
at 2 am
watching Mission Impossible
reruns again redundant
And I never change
although I must
I must I must or die and bust
too late too late
To even be great or even widely pitied
Get out of a house into apartments in NY city
And stay up again alone
Just like tonight
Oh, you, beautiful boy
Beautiful boys all
Beautiful boys all of you
Was snow made especially for you?
A private toy from space, from heaven
From an unlocked box in your imagination?
Come! Run into my arms now!
When the snowfall is over
And we are all grown up
I'll live again
In the fullest sense
I'll melt as the snow melts
Into new forms and shapes
You'll not recognize
Not that you've ever recognized
Maybe I won't even know me!
Snow has alighted
Turning trees into the veins of angels
Shall I stand out there too?
Spread my fingers, crook my arms
And have the snow annoint me beautiful?
A girl I've not seen in years follows, laughing
And all the disappointment
like rings if you could saw me down
would drop away leaving us bare
ready for possibilities
Miss Brooks on a night
before a snowstorm
her bob and her bangs
She never really found anyone she was so busy being Herself
And now she forever dies in the lap of a murderer on Christmas Eve
My legacy...? I'll go back to taking my son to fencing when this play is over - my last for years. And I'll be a dim name recalled increasingly less frequently in the high school halls - that weird guy - taught Brecht. And I'll maybe be "your grandfather" to a kid I'll never meet.
But if there is something after, you'll find me where Louise might be. Having coffee on any given morning.
My ears make their very own sound which only I can hear
Filling my silence with the unending bowing of a tiny cricket
He tells me horrible things, things about my body and my balance sheet
And reminds me that I will never fit in and that love was mine but it left me years ago