Some nights
I just don’t feel
like words
can come
and solve
a thing.
Like when I’m
down to
utterance
of sound
without
much a
direction.
These are
the nights
I love you
like a bell
loves those
who listen
to its toll,
but wishes it
could do
more than
repeat
itself.
Wishes it
could find
a way
to make
the nights
more lively.
Even as
the ones
it loves
follow their
schedules,
listening.
I roll around, to and fro
often not sure where to go.
Sometimes I hop, and sometimes I fall,
but here and there I can do something pretty cool.
In much the same way I write,
I never know exactly what to do,
but I know that I like doing it,
and so I just keep on rolling.
I.
Yes, that is what I said,
but I didn’t say that.
You may have thought I said this–
I’m sorry you thought that I–
yes, that is what I said.
II.
I simply cannot agree.
I find you absolutely beautiful.
I refuse to think otherwise.
The tent began to lift me as I dreamt
Cicadas by the stream increased their shout
But nothing stopped the spiraling ascent
I struck a match before it pitched me out
The nylon pyre fell without a sound
And left me miles of moonlit sand and doubt
At first I sat, not knowing this new ground
And watched each breath incite fine grains to move
No wonder prophets came here to be found
So I began to walk, no way to refuse
Everyday Poetry 