I don't want eventual,
I want soon.
It's 5 a.m. It's noon.
It's dusk falling to dark.
I listent to music
I eat up a few wild poems
while time creeps along
as though it's got all day.
This is what I have.
The dull hangover of waiting,
the blush of my heart of the damp grass,
the flower-faced moon.
A gull broods on the shore
where a moment ago there were two.
Softly my right hand fondles my left hand
as though it were you.
Blue Horses, 2014
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