The Long Day
From thin air
From thick heads
From bones and flesh
From barrels
From groans
From fire
From feet
From hands
From hearts that hurt to understand
From terror
From rapture
From rain
From fog
From seeds
From dirt
From the long day.
Summer Again
Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring in the midst of a water storm, how I wished it was summer again. Matching silver rings and glances over coffee, army jackets and annual cigarettes, looking at the stonework on the buildings forever, necks craning to see the falcons carved like gargoyles, high enough, on their third story ledges, to amaze us but not so close as to pose any real threat. Under the willow tree, I will always be, with his hands on my shoulders.
