amateur cartography.

he held my face in his hands like a first-time explorer grips the page:
turning it this way &that, up &down, read it left to right.
he followed the lines with his fingers
to the corners of my grinning cheeks &crinkled eyes.
stopped.
stared intently into the newly formed lakes,
hot brown on soggy paper.
sighed, marked the spot with red marker and
gently started to crumple the map.

little bird.
any one only knows the girl
with the wrist-watch
&
punch-stained lips.

but,

it`s quite possible
she`s a
bit
more
than that.

The Thought-Fox

I imagine this midnight moment`s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock`s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox`s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox,
It enters the dark hole of the head,
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

-Ted Hughes.

the trouble with apologising

is this:
he was walking along-
side the road, kicking up
pebbles
with every step,
holding a bouquet
of home-
grown
redred roses
downward
to bring back
to his wife,
whom he has known for at least
30
years,
who wears a gold band on her left hand,
even when she scrubs soapy spoons.
Who, truthfully, have been very good to each other.
But,
honestly,
they`re getting a little tired of being so good.

"i'm gonna float up in the ceiling;
i built a levee of the stars,
and in my field of tired horses
i built a freeway through this farce.

well, if i ever get that slumber
i`ll be that mole deep in the ground,
&i won`t be found."
-k.m.

heavy boots.

they said he was in the air.
mom said she held his hands.
dad said he`s ready to go.
it takes about 3 days total, i think.

i say he knows more than we ever will.

black lamb

“I remember the jeans I was wearing the afternoon you bruised my heart. How I could peer over my denim hearted knees into the watery oblivion just feet below my dangling laces. I remember your honestly ambiguous words and I wondered if even you knew what your mouth was saying. How that fisherman’s hairy forearm could have canvassed an anchor or at least an “I love Mom” tattoo, but it didn’t. I remember the sky growing darker as you attached a feathered lure to my heart, plopped it into the ocean and fumbled to grab the reel carelessly propped at the edge of the pier. How easily it fell over and how lazily you watched it fall! I remember how you said I could push you in, the same way you did to me, but different. How I haven’t quite taken you up on that yet. I remember you said something about your dad dying, how you needed time to figure life out. I remember that I promised to wait. How you didn’t want me to. I remember asking to hold your hand before we left. How homesick I felt that night. I remember feeling sorry for myself; refusing forgiveness. ‘How he deserves it!’ I thought. I remember walking around Florida in one afternoon, kissing every piece I ever cursed. How much of life I have taken for granted. I remember noticing someone new for the first time in a long time. How hopefull a heart half-healed can be.”