285.

soft sunlight is my favourite.
i want to see it on your skin
when you are napping and
i am reading a magazine.

an article on a new type of sea fish they found in the atlantic ocean
last saturday. i want to feel the sun on my feet too,
between my toes, up to my palms, right next to you.
and i want to watch the dust float around and your eyes,
they move behind your eyelids
from a dream.

284

little stings on my lips,
ghost tracks on a sunny afternoon in a silent house with dust,
and then dusk,
and the reception gets weaker as i descend into a curve down beneath the sea.
i've been here, everything else is the same,
those smudgy footprints along the hardwood,
but it's definitely been a while.

this is how i can tell:
i have not stalked the land for countless days.

this time, like my every visit, is different.
i know, because when i open my mouth there is no more hunger.
when i open my mouth all that comes out is song.

283

there was music this time, wasn't there?
turn it up,
i want to hear your hands louder than this noise i've been hearing all summer long.

282

how strange is it to exist?
i couldn't tell you, i wouldn't know,
because i can't tell tales like you - i can only count sorrows.
it's sad that i know what happy is and cannot have it,
and it's also sad that i'd like to be happy again,
i'd like to wear flowers in my hair,
i'd like to see people laugh into each others arms
and speak into each others mouths, gentle and familiar words spoken in an unfamiliar way to me.
i've said these words too but somehow it has never been the same.

i wouldn't say this to anybody else,
and when i write it is like a secret,
because the world is closed like a clam but i am open
waiting to be read like a dusty old book.
you once told me, that is the only the best and most charming thing about me, didn't you?

281: life

life,
mama told me it wouldn't always be good,
and that i should avoid being misunderstood,
do whatever i can, wear a bracelet of wood,
crawl to a cliff and there i stood,

for so many days then countless moons,
seen so many loons that i know their tunes,
standing over the blackened lagoon,
my hands tied up by three red balloons.

balloons are red to tie my arms,
and make me a woman with motherly charms,
balloons are red to keep me still,
and prevent me from sleeping and falling off the hill.

"untie me" i say with no forced will,
but the words squeeze out, the words i kill,
with little skill,
i might as well be misunderstood,
between could and should and would,
life, it wouldn't always be good
but at least i have three red balloons
and a pretty bracelet of wood.

280

for a day so bright, the night was darker than i have ever seen.
i can't tell if my eyes are open or closed,
if that is wind blowing in my ear or you whispering your frozen breath,
but i don't care.

this is today, that is tomorrow,
we can save it until later when there is all the time in the world and everything everything is melting in that burning sun.
i don't care i don't care i don't care.