Desert shadows are curtains first one side
now the other:
at Chinese New Year firecrackers everywhere terrible, wonderful
were all edge like the blade of light.
Sometimes these two are like this.
Or sometimes the evening white smell
of breeze (everything starting).
Important for them to understand this. Because now
sun burns their eyes
to remember this. Weeping pain.
And what must be said is far off
and blurred.
Touch me.
Nothing moves, air moves.
This is still human. Nothing has touched them yet.
This is the white
when everything stands still.
Where everything
holds to itself
when light looks
the other bitter with shadow
sky’s blue split lung
impossible for us to touch
here
our stretched attention
the path breaking coming back like an old radio
your feet covered in it
dust on black shoes
my iris tenderly little whiskers strokes your feet
imagine:
a walk prolongs itself
beyond olivares spilling black fruit
Hola!
sand fields
rock-darkness under bird cliffs
moving into the unexpected (tender, exact).
No, imagine this. Wife.
Man.
Imagine caution. Losses.
Sun laying them bare:
under the November sting of Scorpio
city clothes are flowers falling.
Or imagine papers on a table
in daylight.
An envelope.
Imagine the heart’s life like this.