Monday, February 01, 2016

The Remote Bird

A code, a lens,
for connectedness. 
A switch, the taunt
string between two cans. 
-No! Stringless. 
Just the two. Just 
the ocean in each one. 
-No! Just my hand cupped
like a wing on my ear
and yours the same. 

Why is this happening?
-the failure to regard-
the distant distance
where I carry my heart
like a small tree
turning to the sun. 
I turn then, over and over
until it feels like a dance. 

The light is always on my head,
An earworm, a remainder,
a lesson in no news. 
In that movie
I say stop. 
There again
the pointing to,
the lack of. 
Nothing is crucial,
not the dying
not the grocery aisles. 
But a just inserts itself,
asserting a constant moment,
attenuating a frequency,
a modulation 
of longing for
your presence. 

Near me 
A small bird
lands sharply
on a branch. 
Can you hear it
where you are?

No comments: