|Not January Outtake
In April it didn't rain and you
called it blood-month.
You mouthed the wordsbone-balloon and I drew
stick figures of zoo animals.
You wrote questions on steamy
about relativity, about time and then
answered your questions
in octagons and absence.
In July you pointed to my stickfigure animals, said that I forgot
faux-rock caves for bears, monkey bars,spaces in abandoned barns. I said something
designated smoking areas.I thought of empty corners and unused
about leavingdoors unlocked and the awful
shape of silos.
January now and youtalk of sandstorms, make
lists of animals and plantsyou've never touched. I raise
an eyebrow and play,for three days straight,
on my new piano.
|For Your Horse
In Toronto sleep with Batman
nightlights in every dark room;
your nightgown will shine
like the evaporated
sheen on the coat of your
draft horse. Offer mud to everyone
near the jungle gym, offer sage
advice to the swings,
jump ropes, flagpoles
and lawyers. In your endless will
leave almost everything
to yourself, but leave
carrots, shotguns, and history
for your horse. Mornings alone,
eat chocolate cake
summers, become an official
counter for the counties'
annual blade of grass
Leave your homework,
finished, at the bank.
Picture your tombstone
on the Isle of Capri.
Then drive through
town real slow-like,
waving to everyone,
your crooked glasses,
silver hair, shining
in midday sun.
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