and everything outside is growing!
Even the tall cypress tree.
We must not leave this place!
Around the lip of the cup we share
these words …
my life is not mine
if someone were to play music –
it would have to be very sweet.
We’re drinking wine but
not through the lips.
We’re sleeping it off but
not in bed.
Rub the cup across your forehead
this day is outside of living and dying.
Give up wanting what other people
have, that way you’re safe.
Where, where can I be safe you ask?
This is not a day for asking questions!
Not a day on any calendar.
This day is conscience of itself.
This day is a lover –
bread and gentleness
more manifest than saying can say.
Thoughts take take form with words
but this daylight is beyond and before
thinking and imagining
those two. They are so thirsty but
this gives smoothness to water.
Their mouths are dry and their tired.
The rest of this poem is too
blurry for them to read.