THE COMING OF AN EQUINOX


She sat down at a far table.
The force of unstoppable things.
We gathered in a crescent of energy
around shimmering pasta
and waited like wolves
the wine merely drying our throats.
All the legends killed off by teachers
clamored in a corridor
one with the music of antique weaponry
and we took to swearing if she walked
the broken glass one of us would brave
the other side of the television,
in a maze of neon pipes
where nobody learns how to dance

the vines finger at open ledges
brick of the hot sun great souls lounging
past the evaporation of all hysteria
in a mist, smoking, drinking the sparse
carbons left from a broken mountain
fueled by a reflecting planet
magnet storms, and the rowing of relatives
gone insane toward green pooled light
in an interstellar nightmare
bars of high color in a horde of eyes
the orchestra of petroleum
flashing rain-wept chairs
leaving their imprints on dying grass.

Mouth of cucumber
at the tree's thick hip reaching
she got up from a goblet
we moved like a cue ball of awful minds
searching the plane she
threw dagger after glitter
through tide whirling mid in the air,
squirrels near the roots all taken for granted
cobbling small sounds out of low space
golfed a kiss into the bough
cross of light cast deep on the forehead,
the picnic dissembled in a lunar rash
our last words will break
the web under these power lines.