THE HIJACKING DANCE

I was exiled from the woods
you were the queen of metal town
I was the king of the apartments
you were a runner of diamonds
which I never cared for
but your hands

ghost rivulets run
across imaginary planets
turn wheat to the air
mesh wants with desireless void
hear the thousandfold tractors doing nothing
as if we could watch each other's weather
over torched surfaces
shovels bent in rust on ditches' sides
water flowing that we wish would stop
and the airlines that move their tortured cables
into all this with the moss that beckons
and the railroad failing
and the subway coming through the wet soil regardless
and the appointed time for the moon to crack
the music of servants who slept on knives
while a short-lived camera shaped them in buried caves

I was the con man in your rearview
pretending to grin
you were not driving with elegance
it must be said that a restaurant exploded
it must be framed that we were at the centerpiece table
gleaming with the beauty of partial oblivion
waiting for one another to eat olives
from matching glasses

there is an end to the telling of memories
there is an ellipse in time-sheets
where even the softest gaze flickers out against
you who play with gods
you who make plans for society
tell me you have a name for it
so that we may laugh at one another

you were the mother of rulers
I was the father of no narrative
our war was mixed in with the lovers
a short-lived camera shaped them in buried caves
their blood on the reach of our splendour
their movements tethered hard to our cessation

we sat in separate beds on the same earth
warily eyeing each other, searching the spaces around each other
in a deep forgetfulness of windows
you were the queen of the woods
I was exiled from metal town
smiling