Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Month: November, 2009


Sometimes when the light is right
I leave the afternoon alone
I walk the hallways I left behind
where I was taught that I could write
and there I remember my own face
and how I never saw it say
what I was thinking

Occasionally in the twilight
as the light plays softly on
in spiderwebs of silvery song
I attempt to play along
but find that the music I’ve been hearing
is just too quiet

If I walked outside
into that windswept field at night
maybe the stars would meet me here
beneath the arms of space and time
and find me circling the patch of trampled grass
where I’ve been trying to write away
the dreams that imbibe me

And maybe in the daylight
we can sort these shifting sands
make a message with our hands
and discover what it was
our friends were saying

But in the end the time has passed
to find meaning in the rhyme
just make up your weary mind
and keep on wandering



In the absence of everything
we can only hope
that the words will appear
as if to show us
what we were saying
all along



On the day
when I can claim
to have grown old
at least the spots
on my body
will remind me of the times
when your fingertips
touched mine
and left droplets just like
scattered across my skin


You dripped from me
like memories of a dream
and in the morning
I felt your hand
melt from mine
and the covers
can only smother me
as long as you’re not
wrapped up somewhere inside


If I looked up
this time
maybe I’d see
something other than
my eyelashes
hiding lines of you
at least I can try
to keep my eyes
from drifting across
the sky


I saw you smile


In the beauty of being
I find that the water flows more fluidly
as if to babble
more discreetly
maybe simply being bashful
about babbling

and I, sitting quietly
in a rippling sea of gibberish
close my book
and leave it to float away
and I watch the words wash soundlessly
off the constraint of the page
and into the rush of the rapids
as if finally giving the waves
something to say

When you were

You bite your tongue
like it’s something else you can take away
another piece of the person you used to hate
just one more mark on the back of your pillowcase
don’t tell yourself you’re making a mystery
out the expressions on my face
you’re just a winter dream settled on someone else’s chest
and if you believed in something other than breathing
maybe there would be another reason for you to love me


If we watched
the dots behind our eyes
maybe we’d turn out fine

In my alleyway I lay back and listen
to you sing about finding time
I’ve written around a thousand lines
just to find a place for mine

Every moment of wondering
has been just another step sideways
into finally making a picture
out of the puzzle piece
that’s been cut from my life

When we walk together
we talk about the things we used to remember
I worry about whispering
and not knowing who I really know
and when we get up
I can’t remember how to stand straight
or how to turn to you and say
that your face has always reminded me
of how I used to be


As the dust of a generation
floated softly from the mouths
of its own wonderful children
the world still wrote madly on

We waited, wondering when
these wounds would be fixed for us

The bowstrings were pulled taut
and the arrows shot into the sky
and we gazed after them
until somewhere, each of them died

And while our spines burned
as if we were on fire
the grass around us bent only slightly
with the breeze of our breathing

We let the sweat fall from our foreheads
to mix with the dust on our lips
and we remembered our birth
drawn from the dew
that we drank all our lives
we look at what’s left around us
and remember that we never
really cared at all