I'LL LET THE LIGHT TRICKLE THROUGH MY FINGERS HANDS
AS WE KNEEL ON THE FLOORS DOORWAYS
OF YOUR LAST FULL-FORMED MEMORY
I kneel in the cells of a slanting house
say "the rain is infinite" but know
it's not, I beg the senseless air
for company. The pissing of skies
traps me in my room, holds voices
of all others force-fielded far away.
I stop in the calls of a smashed drainpipe
to bring my walk down to a railroad sound.
I let the whole street come up
through my wrists. Streetlamps
tower & crown
my only shoulders.
I stop near a tongue-kiss memory
in the quiet hurricane of a concrete stairwell.
(It's a house I built steadfastly when I was unwell.)
We hated every moment of it's dilligent
progress, & faded blue-green down,