or is that
this
year?
there were so many
storms we were
wet all the time
and the attic we
slept in was cut
adrift sometimes. the grapefruit moon. the whole of
the ocean
pacific black. last night
I walked in the city and down the fading
light
the oaks were oddly slender dark
and sculptured.
in the dark. in the dream. and
I thought of it all
at once.
and well
above the top of tree
a globe of
light fell down and through
the holes and fringes dark of mind in safety
sheds with light. in the
nature of
the fall. that year. which
has never left.
the lights of
the houses the eyes
of the houses
are all of the dream
of the inside I had. I have.
that in some inside place the hearts
are easy
with each other. it
keeps me
alive. did. does.
Susan
hears me sometimes.
sometimes there
we are
alone again in the room at the top of
the leaning house. the grapefruit moon
watching the
spiders and all
the fruit
trees, the bending
pepper trees,
the slope
of the face of the concave of mountain
sliding, sliding,
the lights
in the trees rearranging. no
need. no need my love.
I’m
still a damaged being loving
you through all these
isolate lights in the trees on this walk
in the fall of this
year. that year.
wet through and through. my
hope is mostly for
our little boy
who sleeps
downstairs
in his own strange
room.
and feels things loudly
crashing at
the shore.
