puzzle pieces

i'm going to dog ear all the beats
last night where i wanted to kiss you--
where the roof of the car became 
aluminum foil & unrolled sheet by sheet.
where the sidewalk outside buckled,
each crack the back of a knee, my knees 
following into the violin bows--
my brother played violin for a few years
before hanging the instrument on 
the wall on my uncle's side of our 
big soft yellow house. did i tell you
my parent's have a big soft yellow house
& if you put it into the palm of
you hand it becomes play dough. this is
where my bed room was, i tell you 
& a red beet drops from the ceiling
onto an anthology of something. this is
too purple to be blood. this is the mouth
between the mangoes-- the hair washed 
in vinaigrette. the cranberries that 
all of of our scabs, just sweetened.
alone at night in my bed after you
left i took a sharpie to the wall 
& tried to draw the lines of a great 
puzzle, like one of the ones stacked 
in the rec room at the nursing home up
the street. will this be a lighthouse
from your poem? the shovel? the wall
sconce flickering between us.
i'm pulling the pieces out of the dry wall
& they broke on the wooden floor: 
dust & celestial particles. tell what
now about the moon. & the wall will
not become a puzzle just because of
lines. crouching, i opened every book
on my shelf & each became, in that instant,
a coffee table between us. a cast 
iron pot of dragon tea. a beet bleeding,
now, only heavier. oh, purple us.
a blue ceiling light.