a poem for each time she's left


When I left your house for the last time
It started to rain, and the whole way back
to where I had parked, I could feel each tiny moment
water soaking through my shirt
and no sun in the forecast for days
this was okay with me, like swimming,
like talking in your sleep,
and sitting in the car before leaving
watching the world dotted and streaking around me
submerged aquatic and submarine
I thought this could only be a good thing--
everything slowing, distance muted
in haze, the weight of things
under water,
under a greater heaviness
which is not our own
and which I feel
wash around me
and drain.


I was sleeping when it started to snow
outside the window, and then inside
for a moment
when you, opening it to feel,
felt, like an apparition, the softest touch of water
grow and fade like a moment on your upturned wrist
it is midwinter and morning
comes slow, and
in spite of everything
time passes,
and you are gone again
or nearly, from the shadow of the airfield
up into the waning sun, the mountains
are backlit by the narrow band of green,
easily missed, that separates the sunlight
from the darkening blue
that takes the sky--
you veer towards them, appalachia
and in a glint of light
gather and bend
downward through nothingness into grace
that yeilds to the first stars of a new moon,
you a light amongst them, hanging, and suddenly
im back in my bedroom, restless,
young, spinning the sky in the patterns
of a windowframe. The strings
that hold the stars up vanish
but they don't fall down.


There is a time of night
when even all the deer are asleep
and the roads are clear
all the way from here to tennessee.
it is then that i miss you most
the air cold with the taste of the coming frost
it is already tomorrow
beautiful and changing
like a window streaking with rain--

It is raining
when I leave you,
watch you leave, let you
go, to your life
Through the wide doors and lights
that swallow people whole

the road bows away from the airport
back to the ground, the last clouds
of the lingering storm
break in the distance
the glass buildings blushing
with new daylight
at each exit ramp
the overpasses mark time
in stripes of quiet darkness
and then the rain lifts
and the quiet is everywhere
the eastbound lanes fill with traffic
but we are passed that, we are gone,
the road runs west to the mountains
and dissolution.
the deer scatter into the hills.

in my memory i am walking along terraces in the snow
you are there and we are alone
and in my memory there is always the sound of birds
before daylight, the fog
illuminated in the valley by the moon,
it too disperses into the absolute, the familiar--
it's as if we've been here before--
the present is made entirely of the past.
morning comes to the observatory
and in perfect stillness
you awaken to the dream
and never sleep again.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
Hey Jimi. I think this needs a bit more form. It's got this slow-drawl ramble to it, which is the S&L way but I think there's opportunity here to trim, resize and most importantly reshape. I really think the line breaks and punctuation harm the read, yours is often quite a prosaic style I find, and this is something that (for me) doesn't have a poetic tick-tock, measure if you will. I'm not saying write in pentameter, but I do think poetry needs a little energy in it and I think if you addressed the speed and flow a bit and gave it a more consistent feel across the piece, I'd get a better feel for the read and thus the ideas.

Have a good day.