AIRDOME PLACE

droning gardens we thought of a place
where the years would pass by water,
I'm trying to dream your presence
into the chair across from me, stabbed
by a gypsy knife between roots

my death grows fluttery, surrounded
by flowers, rainfall is broken on our backs,

we're annointing each other with white green mud
sand in the shallows of the Connecticut,
come home America, your children have
deep hands in which rivers run.