the very short dictionary of seemings

soon early mornings'll mean more soon certainly something will add to fall and everything will be reinvented. you, this strange bent angel turning tides over tides unearthing pleasures known only to the sun known only once before like whispers at eyelashes like storms across taped windows

these are the early ones: achings so old and long i can barely stand to look (i've unwritten the extra skies)

once, where feilds stretched out long as arms at horizons and heads rested easy as dust on dust on dust on dust on you on memories of you on every early hour spent waiting spent sitting spewed out reading books on sofas (the days pass so mysteriously)

time comes and goes with the filling and refilling of coffee cups, with the turning of pages the turning over of hearts in sand the writing of careful lines marking the beginnings and ends of you in hillsides (a kind of sandcastle of the mind- unheard, unknown)

you, who spent so many days like paintings to see like storybooks stolen from the sea like certainty pulled from sadness: you are the beginning of most happinesses the end of most sadnesses (and both ways in return)---
i remember your days casually only when i exact a new kind of words, a new way of pondering language (this is where you reside inside me now above me beyond me next to me behind me a thousand lights in every direction and every one is the light of your bedroom window): trees i once climbed, rugs i once fisted my toes across creaks of the settling home i once gave birth to- the early edge of everything and how you shined how i shined how much shining there was to be had clomping up and down staircases padding your feet to the bathroom- now only some songs ressurect you...

you're more than days or calls or looks or earthquakes. the margins of a page are too narrow to describe you.

it's only as easy as you know.

it's only as easy as you see as you are to smile about as you are to let loose the wet street sighs over the long drawn out gasps like days days passed like trails trekked like suns set like seas settled (there are skylines inside you and i saw them)

aren't you the the midday sometimes?

so i stop sometimes on the road the park once mine the park now yours the way the leaves rustle about the way the trees sway (i think of you mostly in slow motion)

i've undone the laces of lackluster afternoons and rewritten them to encapsulate moments spent staring off into the somewhere where every eagerness smiled and swooned- it's a way through a way past and everyone needs a little walkway sometimes everyone needs at least a few days tripping up and down the long sideways sidewalks of your soul everyone needs a little tenderness sometimes everyone needs a little afterhours afterburn a little underdone memories (and that's what i've got of you and more...)

then the long slow letters unwind their way into me the strings of thoughts stretched into sentences into vague impressions like so much of this like so much of life left with only the certainty of seemings of needings cravings answered only halfway then refilled: these are pages of you for me.

too much then too little then none at all then none at all then finally, none at all...

2006-10-03 | 6:00 p.m.
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