ABABCDCDEFEFGG
i: I wish to speak, but only when you prompt.
I forgot to draw a circle in sand.
It feels like you were asking to be stopped,
reckless was the mind, cautious was the hand.
This is the first winter I’ve gone outside.
I learned I cannot stay in bed all day.
I cannot be before feeling daylight,
not even if you had asked me to stay.
I hate to say that I am leaving soon,
I was so close to never saying it.
But I did leave, my flight back was at noon,
it sits in the chest heavy, I’ll admit.
I’ll be the predictable thing again.
It was melodramatic in the end.
ii: Chain links of thin metal link in between
the huge parking lot and the grassy field,
demarcation is clear; look down to see.
So what other purpose does a fence yield?
If not the fence for me, then who, for you?
For you, does a fence mean safety assured?
Does a fence absolve the need to pursue?
The kindness of “can’t,” over “won’t,” insured?
Well I won’t climb it, can we still touch palms?
I won’t cut metal, I won’t pry and bend,
I won’t fault a fence for such fleeting qualms;
we can walk, side by side, as it extends
I resolve to always meet you halfway,
along the fence, passing your gate, relay.
iii: It fears that inside it is decomposed
detritus, microscopically growing.
It shifts in discomfort wearing most clothes.
Likes skin to skin to skin to skin. (slowly)
It stretches until It’s spine cracks in place,
then lies very still so it can relieve
the ache and weight of gravity’s embrace
then, lungs suddenly inflating, It heaved.
Then, It sets the shower to the Hottest
Knob, all the way left, dizzying, numbing.
Scrubbing the skin to feel cleaner, cleanest,
no residue remains. (sterilizing)
It tries to feel clean so it can feel good
It would choose to be better if It could.
iv: Fairies tend gardens for many reasons.
Faes love magic; so they will plant roses,
Then change the dirt bed for every season,
Flowers and worms, it all decomposes.
In sunflowers and jewels they draw patterns;
the fairies love to illusion and trick.
A perfect spiral to honor Saturn
burning beeswax, incense, herbs, and spiced wick.
Faes love magic; so they protect gardens
transforming trespassing cheaters and thieves
into beetles to crush so dirt darkens
with syrup-sap of life to grow spring leaves.
They sing, so if you hear blossoming hums,
Resist magic’s allure, the sound of drums.
v: i’ve taken sixteen thousand pictures with
my phone this year, a realizing and shock,
suddenly flustered, at the monolith
of evidence to all my lonely walks.
i averaged twelve thousand steps this year.
i reasoned to stay out all night sometimes.
i would just daydream of you with me here,
and just walk all day, translating the signs.
i took the photos so i could text them,
feeling, even more, like distance was moot.
it is joy- to live life through your eyes then,
Green looks brighter when i think of your boots.
my day-long-walks were not lonely to me-
data on my phone lacks that subtlety.