On a path where rails were once torn up
we attacked each other with kisses
and pledged to lit streams of jet exhaust
never to abandon each other in the eye
of any storm. The grey rocks ran
with black water. Moss opened itself
to sponge the mouth, the trunks
whirled under all the blankets
of our seperate, similar memories.
Kids who jumped from sixty feet
to hit the water with their arches
sailed past insulting security guards
and we spidered under
a dim rugged ledge
to save each other from shivering.
Black moon arrived, but resembled
so closely the violet sun
that our bloodshot veined eyes
reached at the telephone trees
and the telephone branches.
Moths alit on lichens
where the water stopped
and sunlight dried
the landscape to match their wings.
We sang underneath all this;
we sang like a cave
with two deep mouths.