07/28

haystack in a haystack

outside the 7/11 we'd drink 
our brains blue. you, tall as 
a water tower & me with lavendering lips.
in a dream my father dies & comes back to life
to give me a bag of animal feed.
we raise cows only the cows aren't cows
they're ducks. the crops don't grow this year
& we all learn to eat ideas. me saying,
"salvation" & you saying "will you please."
in the desert, you used to say,
wild pigs would run in herds like 
kindergarten. i catelogue your textures
so that when i close my eyes
i can run my hands across the truth.
hand-sewing pant ankles because i'm short.
nothing to do with the rainforest at all,
we used benches like match books. 
an eagle delivered me a bible one night
& i opened it to find all the pages blank.
i drew wildflowers. how "consume" means
to separate parts which then cannot be
reunited. inside the husk each corn kernel
dreams yellow. dreams of becoming a star.
how many times have you been let down gently?
asking the wind to make a feather of me.
you & i in a brief green rapture.
god with a flashlight on our faces
looking for what to leave & what
to take. midnight reaching for a closet door 
& touching cool sand. you standing in the corner
tall as a water tower. eyes wide open. 

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