Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.

Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human

But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Ghosts In Pieces Falling

the snow knows each other
it’s falling its talking
its conductivity is blue
but across space
it’s black
an electron that is coded for
a lot like you
and I
and it’s falling from the sky
with longing
to remember
from whence it hath came
what day was it that made
its name
and made her or him or they
turn to snow
and turn into light

Simple Math

These people
were asking about me
marrying you.

There was yellow.
There was light blue.

We’re not Swedish
but it was Summer.

And they asked
if I still think of you.

I don’t think you’re in
any mental space
to understand how
all these exchanges
are delicately computational.

Lofty clouds off in the distance.
A kingdom that’s become
or they
never existed to begin with
for the
sacred realm of words
up there

that materialized
and echoed today.

There is disease in my heart.

My consciousness is a dance each day.

A beat that is slow, bad and good.

An apple
I remember eating atop Astoria, Oregon
while bathed in sunlight.

At least this was not you

. . . so I can somehow still live.

Erasure Of Blood

I continue to follow your name
in the wheat fields
wavering and wavering,
the curves of your body
under this early Spring sun
by the edge of the houses
I first learned to believe in you,
the air is warm and encompasses.

My kittens are ghosts now.
They walked through that field
when I realized the fibers in my heart
for your love.
Your arms sculpted by passion,
you held me with force,
a gravity I had never known,
a first cognizance of the lifeforce
in my blood.

Blood has fallen all around those oak trees
at the edge of the wheat stalks waving.
It fell from my hands and fingers.
The ones that lost you.
Blood into black dirt.
Blood under moonlight.
Blood of the verses that no longer whisper
remain in the everlasting soul
of my DNA that lived and still lives
solely to see your flock of brown hair
dance across the vaporized horizon
with the toss of your hips
cleanse my mind
and all that I will ever know.