A glass is dropped and the exploded pieces hang in the air together. Then they fall, as all things must. I too fell, as a glass from the counter, in love. There were times when I was weightless. Others I was on the ground and she-- bounding through the air. Though we appear transparent, we bend our truths like light and do not wash ourselves enough. We seek metaphor—I love you like an apple falling in a vacuum-- but are incomparable-- O bright vowel; O brooding consonant-- and therefore fit like guardsmen changing shifts. Night snuck in without a knock and the day refused the maid. The bill arrived at dawn but neither looked.
What continues cools. Why else runs the river so cold and the children so hesitant to dip their feet into it? How can they continue what’s only in their organs just begun? The mountains-- The mountains above and around. How cold the mountains. How continuous: Rocks covered in life; rocks themselves lacking it.
From an Automobile
I spun the tires. The snow fell well. Under me the earth moved and I stayed where I was. You were there, who watched, and weighed. The wait was long. The sun, meanwhile, was. The comparisons are minimal-- except for everything that was never seen. What moves through me moves me. Your skin stops on mine—in time. Tired and friction, we burn. Winter ceases, eases as out of snow. Tomorrow, the winds will be-- our tracks as though we never were.