To be quiet and not crush...
To be quiet and not crush
the little paper aeroplanes of your sleep
I have witnessed and rehearsed the slender defection of your belongings,
as if the moon’s paparazzi flash
through the blinds made a negative of our lives.
The white square
that will fall if the door handle turns
is not a blouse;
that long, smooth box
left too close to the edge
not your glasses case;
rockpools over which I stumble
toward morning’s long shore
not your shoes.
A tray opens its unkempt hand,
no longer able to hold the sift
of diffident, indifferent years.
No matter how slowly I move,
make my Balinese dance between furniture, I betray
their fidelity, their regret for us, our hard edges.
At my touch their banked life wakens
from starlight’s gilt album.
Materiality, July 2014