Cat Over Clock

Poetry Saves the World

July 21st


We travel
our arms long, hats turned up
open palms.
We weep for the past
the present, the future.
Bleeding hearts in the garden
sway in time with the souls we’ve seen pulled from our chests
and hung like stars.

Creeping time inches into your dreams
chewing a path filled in with
apple pith and old cells.
It’s been moons since
feet on bridge
or mixing a drink for another.

It’s likely you’ll embrace
the sky
when you are a drifting
and the years lost in the mail climb–bring you to the postman’s yard.
Today you’re
twisting on the wind
where you can help the bees
pollinate the bleeding hearts.

Left. Right.

Right. Left.

Goodbye April

A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is never a poem to begin with.

Robert Frost

Dear Pacific,

Alone in the shower
I wash the foam
of you
dried ocean foam
from my hips.
This water
cannot clean like the ocean
cannot strip me bare like the ocean.

Yesterday with you–
I was the flower
in a clam, I chased a crab
acknowledging the
The monster cold
embraced me with numb.
If I asked for more of you
you’d reach for my feet
drag me close.
A stab in my heart
The master acupuncturist
the ice needle entering follicle
sliding into follicle
accessing follicle.
Yes. This swim.
“It reminds me that discomfort
differs from pain.”
She tells us,
standing with the sun on herĀ hair
your breath in her clothes.
My eyes leave her face–
away from angel smile and
down to sand.
Once again
the soles of my feet are yours.

I’ll be swallowed whole.

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