Saturday, March 26, 2016

The Rhythm's Want

We had it all, we knew.
How night tore its sleeves to give us stars.
How the wind ravaged to render, later, calm water.
A hungry stomach could unfurl like fields
and await the plantings of roast beef or pancakes, or barley
for a soup that could steep alongside moments plump with reading,
a monotonous swoon of hours baking sure the bell that
your mother would ring to call you, suddenly alert, home.
We knew we had it all, mosquitoes breaking into air like jewels,
berries, babies, orgasms and orchestras,
screen doors banging up the massing of memories,
the dog nosing the muscle for affection, spirit food.
Even the disappointments in yourself, in others,
the buses arriving late, the trains with their lamps, departing.
At the ends of our toes and the tips of our hair shafts
clung an electrified disbelief that stretched toward knowledge -
that one day we would lose it all, the story would shrink away,
the cells themselves wink out.
And yet our blood hammered on, a small dim-witted eager jockey
lit amber, agile, in the waning light.
We had it all, the broken pumps and pipes,
the sufficient dribble of clean water.
We knew it, we felt it, we wore it.
We lay in it, imprints, in grass or snow.
And yet we wanted more.