A night in the village of the earless man

The moon stares down like a watchman, seeing all the streets and all the peasants witnessing the wind flow by, its turbulence howling and howling and wishing and wishing. It wants to mingle with the hills and the trees in some destined troika, some power witnessed by the one upon the mountainside, who will clap them along across the plain. He sees the steeple standing there like the elder, sustained by little meals, yes, little words that he has been digesting for more years than anyone remembers. Yet every now and again he is released in the great pulling of the rope and the great ringing of the wedding bells. “Come! Here is something one must hear! I have felt the wind dancing and seen the hills excitement, and today we shall join them in their merriment!” So that the little huts and shacks might come shrieking their excitement as the children do when they know nothing better. The blues and blacks whisper to the yellows of the large sky and dare them to join it. Even the gnarled tree watches on with anticipation because when the evening sky dances with the earth’s breathings, the moon watches on knowing what newness comes with the evening breeze.

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Today you, tomorrow me

Cold like the river
creeps into my bed
I sleep while my brothers
are marching north instead

Oh there’s the water
washing ’round their tread
As borders grow wider
their fears are in my head

Yes
I’m the man with his house upon his back
He is thirsty
We are thirsty
And yes
I’m the woman with her kid around her neck
She is lovely
We are lovely

These hands of another
have found me caked in sand
awake from our slumber
we make the march ahead

The cries of our mother
rang across the land
we ate her dinner
with broken blistered hands

Yes
I’m the boy with the bare
blackened back
He is naked
We are naked
and yes
I’m the ones with a hope
still in the step
We are marching
we’ll keep marching. 

For Today (and Amanda)

Today I felt

like the wind

does 

at the

front

of a new cold fling

so unsure

of its chill

and its tension

if it’s

to be

now winter

or spring.

 

And today I felt

like the earth

does 

when the

roots 

of flowers strain

so sure

of their want

to touch bedrock

spindling

down like

the hair

like the veins. 

 

And today I felt

like the man

does

with a

year 

of fresh brave change

so quick

now between

earth and flower

smiling 

up at

a hand

at a name

 

 

To be a boy

The boys

run 

through the 

green 

sprinkled with

young 

white

ladies of 

the field

in blossom,

then

past her 

fence,

slowing,

hoping to 

catch her 

in a 

moment of 

sweet repose.

They know

that when 

the big

yellow

meets the

blue 

perfectly 

centered, 

she will 

likely be

there

drinking 

the pure

summer

through her

skin,

and sweating. 

They know

nothing

of her 

teenage

refinement

or taste.

In fact, 

she doesn’t

either. 

But when

yellow

comes to

mingle 

in the blue

it results

in these 

sideways

glances, 

and the 

slowing of

strides.

Pageantry

without

judges

or correctness

or consequence.

Just a

wonder

and a

dream of

simpler

result.  

Just some 

freckle faced 

boy with

nothing on 

his side

but the

summer

sun itself

 

Apartment hunting

-I want to put notes
    in the spaces
Hang them from the air
    drifting into
something recognizable
    and energizing…-

But when I tell
    the landlord this,
it just comes out:
        musician.

I could hear the 
    whistle of
these particular
   notes’ quick
decent back to
    earth. 

Landing with a 
    thud
and a no;
    you don’t meet
the preliminary 
    criteria.