Again

Maybe, this morning
you are raking leaves,
scraping yellow canals through a yard’s
parched lake, that each morning,
after sleep, weigh lightly
against the ankles,
parts, as you walk, rejoin.

Fall is new here, and teases gravity,
and leaves dervish,
decomposing into birds.
But you loved trees,
didn’t you? And me,
mound of decay, smoke-bleached.

And now,
I feel myself breathe.
For a moment, I believe
I can decipher the air
where you sing to yourself,
wading in again, another road
peeling through the beautiful ruin,
recollecting, then, the old truth,
the new truth, that even trees will
have souls again,
while others blacken
as they burn.

Downtown

The sun, of course, makes no sense today,
like the drunken fucks that just spilled
a pitcher of beer across the sidewalk.
It makes it all come to me, the blindness
that overturns what you’ve kicked
in the ribs, to keep down.
I am trying to cross through traffic,
and why not follow that stream?
It knows the way when it’s lost.
I wanna be that thing that says sorry
without wanting one more thing,
who knows the epiphany of vomit
as it licks it up, the glitter of sun
pissing all over the sidewalk.
I’m trying to let words tell the truth,
those heartless bastards, that could do with
one more, what the hell,
one more chance.