train station

bring your bees home. feed 
the sun your daily handful 
of buttons. we do what we must
to remind the earth to keep going.
we go to the creek. wear our own
mushroom veils. you tell me,
"i find the old bottles here"
& we spend all day digging them
from the rocky soil. i fill each of mine
with tongues. a secret is a place
you get to keep yourself 
or so i have always thought. 
where no one else can see
the color of your teeth. keep my thumb
over the bottle mouth. on the couch
you say to me, "i need you to tell me
the truth." i think of the train station
up the street & of throwing 
the bottles on the tracks. whispers
drowned out by the tumbling engine.
we go there & wait for the trains
to go by. only then do feel like i can shout
everything into the pear-skin wind. 
this kind of breaking welcomes water.
falling in. the ravenous sun.
you shouting too. the words
turned into cicadas. they get away &
burrow like bottles. inside
each of mouth, a piece
of my runaway. when you find me again,
i will be inside a bottle.
rinse me out in the sink.
stick a flower in my mouth. 
talk to me then. you can
tell me anything.