You found the year the rest of us forgot.
Written, scrawled like a hurried note,
Stuffed
Lost between the cushions of the couch.
My love
Whispered like a dirty swear
word,
remember.
Time stood still
Viscose, it dripped down my fingers
And pulled the rest of me with
you.
You.
You walk through the back door of your sisters house
Never use the front door
Even when you're alone.
No one seems to know why.
Sticky fingers, remember,
They hold onto life
To love
To pain.
Only the living hold on.
Time passes.
Minutes, hours, days.
What more could a man want but the constant reminder
The ticking of the temporal
The fastening of deaths fingers
Over your sticky heart.
Dragging you closer to the truth you had forgotten.
Sending you downwards
Falling
In the most graceful arc
Humanity can muster
In the death of a soul.
In three different countries in this second,
Someone has found another's breath.
They pick it up off the pave
Turn it over in their hands
It is worthless to them
Not much more than
The untouchable moment
When a kiss took your breath away.
Like the frozen coins
Dropped out of a worn down pocket
To find its home below the street.
In the dark, still another's bones cry out
Missing the home they had made
In the vestibule of a strangers chest.
What more is a stranger
Than the space between two lungs
The skin that separates one heart beating from its kin.
For those who think they know
What art is that of falling
Ask the wolf
Who knows nothing but its love for the moon.
Who cries out his song each month
Before she turns her white face away.
Or ask the moth, who dances so close to the flame
That her wings alight
With the fire of love
Ask her what is the art in falling
For I think she knows
What it's like to hit the ground with such passion.
For those of us who know
We keep it to ourselves
Lest our battered hearts and wings
Forsake our bold and love strung hearts.
So keep that year.
Lose the memory in the curtains
Underneath the skink.
For at least it lives with you
Although no one knows why.
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