Last night when I was young I saw a man looking at me.
Sometime before the blue dark oceans rose
our mouths hushed by water when we tried to speak.
I saw weeds accumulating in the backyard
and never thought to do anything.
Last night before I helped that man with a flat tire
I never thought to question.
I only gave him a bunch of money and no,
he didn’t have a gun.
Lucky, I guess.
Sometime, anytime, before blowing crack smoke
onto a crack-head’s dick.
When all the men in the world were looking at me.
When I’d feign shyness and lower my eyes coyly.
There’s another look too
that came later.
A locking gaze
pouted lips and all.
A lover, The Lover. Perhaps
where passion became Passion.
Shade, willow tree, a place to hide, hands grabbing
all hot afternoon.
How the sun never let up, never moved,
the way the sun never moves. We could learn
to imitate science, couldn’t we?
A peaceful dog asleep on my feet,
his sigh rises and falls beneath his chest.
We could learn
how to build bridges that last forever
glassworks magazine | 2014