June 24, 2010

exes have marked

Where we go
the flat tops of an X.
Our lines split apart
from the center.
The dark knot of our crossing.

A blot of ink
thick, deep black.
The point our two lines

We drew straight to the middle,
to each other,
from where we were
the flat bottoms of the X.

It was still a hill.
We climbed.
An arrowhead.
We sharpened.
We tipped.

We were shot somewhere far,
but near the end.
We didn’t know.
We didn’t see
past the top.

It was just the middle.
Where we would meet,
stay. Rest;
take a break from our climbings.
Who knows when they will go?

We viewed all the places we could go.

When we met:
face to face.
But below, around,
the countries all possible.
We turned away,
sat side by side.
Remarking the cities,
the roads carrying people,
the oceans and reservoirs,
the skies stained starry.
Memorials downhill
upon green stirring grass.
And in the air between
red heaven and black earth,
a longing streak, dreams of dawn.

desire to climb
need to roll away

We ended with our backs touching.
We leaned on each other.
There always,
one behind the other.

Who forgets first?
What you look like face to face.
How my breath feels on your nose.

The end, we finally saw
below, in the calling countries,
around, in the sunburning horizon.
Who pushes first?
Off me.  Off you.
The top of our hill;
dulled arrowhead.
The middle: the end.
Climbing is another way to descend.

The beginning.
We started for the tops of the X.
To his own grass stirring.
Her own sky starring.

we made with our two lines.
The dark naught of our crossing.
The roads carrying people,
grids of their intersectings.

Atop my flattened line
I see life below.
My land marked with Exes;
losing game of tic-tac-toe .



Comments are sexy.