you never told me you had
a leather garden. i learned
from the best museums
how to steal statues.
in the water we find
so many arms. all of them
are looking for their former gods.
in the living room we get
archeological with the potraits.
uproot the yew looking for 'you.'
i am more afraid of my tethers
to whales than than anything else.
if i turn over in bed
one too many times i will end up
in the dark blue ocean
coping with the prescense of lungs.
i fit you inside my mouth. i call you
little frog. we wet our fingers
to touch the amphibians
who have started to arrive
for a party we are not throwing.
i explain, "it is no one's birthday"
to which they reply. "it is everyones'."
the mushrooms send a text message
to the trees that humans need to
get back to their knees.
i agree for the most part.
giving it a try, i notice
most of my problems come from
hearing the clouds so loud.
laying in the grass i am
a whole boyhood again. a swing set
hangs from my ribs where
birds come to whimsy.
we don't replant. we keep
the yard barren & i suggest,
"what if we grew obelisks."
they arrive like fingertips.
we lay with our backs up against them
& sigh. it is a shame to not
be insects. gather around
the salt lick & take turns
watching out for deer or hunters.
this lifetime is one for
regressions. i want to be
a hundred thousand years younger.
we uncover fern fossils
who laugh like dead trumpets.
they say, "you think you know
what you want. you have no clue
just how loud the sun was."