we were told that the doves don't
know how to stampeded--

we opened a window last night--
swallowed a sack full of feathers
and watched god light the birds
on fire with the shriek of morning--
empty your pillows out the window with
me-- this is our chance to rid
our bodies of all remnants of sleep--
did i tell you i have always 
wanted to be kissed in the 
flush of another blizzard--
how do we know it's winter
when it refuses to be cold--
all we feel is the heat of the 
burning of another flock of birds--
artificial sun that turned my
windows white--
the best way to fall in love
is sealed inside the hem
of a snow storm-- 
i'm thinking about pulling my
brother
on a sled and stepping out into
a field as an astronaut--
this was a crater ice cream
scooped from the surface of the moon--
i told him we would get home
and take off our wet boots--
i promised we'd keep our toes
if only we kept walking--
our world was a sled--
we opened the window last night 
in the vague hope of holding
onto our teeth like
match sticks-- i strike
a fire from your tongue--
light the feather on fire 
to melt the ice off our toes--
god left us flowers on the porch
to remind us he made snow storms
to make people fall in love--
i'm setting them on the end table
by our bed piled high with downy--
there's something about blankness 
that conjures up a feeling
of want in all of us--
want of a porch
a window
a ledge
a solitary match stick 
a stampede of doves hurling
themselves into the earth
in an attempt to become comets
become craters--
become my brother seated in
a blue plastic sled--
what do you know about
your own toes?
there is a sort of fear that accompanies
a snow storm that is different
than the dark end of a hallway--
it is the eternal fear of 
being swallowed up alone--
becoming blank-- becoming
another dove suicide to cover
up everything that once held color
or flecks of sun--
hold onto me and eat a fist of feathers--
do you feel yourself becoming softer?
kiss me cold and 
i'll save the flowers for you--
paint ourselves against the 
backdrop of dove bodies 
in the window and the yard
and all over the roof top--
i'm asking you pull me on a sled sometimes
and sometimes i'll be as cold 
as wet shoes
and sometimes i'll hold you like
a blue plastic sled--
step out on this moon with me--
i'm waiting with flowers 
on the porch--