Sunday, November 27, 2011

In Superior

What do you do when you are too sick to go out, clean house, or otherwise be helpful? Rework scraps you find in drawers, maybe remember very special nights up north.

In Superior

the nameless points on the horizon,
where sight surfs on white flashes
and into the black suede above,
show us everything we need to know.

I love how it makes me young, my eyes
suckling the full breast of moonlight.
I love how it makes us old, two smirking stars
who have watched it all come and go together.

In the morning it’s almost gone, just a glance
over breakfast and bloodies and the world’s tide rolling in.
So let’s not rush.

At the place where the night starts to see,
when the day closes down
I'll see you there.
Don’t say a word.
Get ready to jump.