Writing

I threw a rock into your pool
Darker than oil
Dark to the point where you find yourself hunting for the edges of your vision
to make sure your eyes are still there

But necessary and replenishing
as only water can be

And, as I knew it would,
as the rock fell to the end
it caught the most beautiful light

With every part of its surface, in every color
It caught the light of the world on the way down
And I knew I loved you

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If in all the ways
you shape and taste the world with your thoughts,
you were to pull me in and wrap me around
like weeds choking out a vegetable—
no pressure or anything, but that’s all I want.

I went down to the water while you called our friends;
we knew we’d find it soon, but I was tired of patience.
I started to drink, and my eyes flew open; my hair stood all on end
and I felt the strength return to arms softened by too much rest.

We bit into the dirt, and swallowed without chewing.
I pushed my feet into the mud while you rolled it in your hands.
And suddenly they were everywhere, our neighbors who had been dormant,
their heads thrown back to give forbearance to the wind.

You were there and gone before
I had time to bury you in words.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Thoughtless,
belief in a symbol leads me to rebel
against the wise who make up my counsel.

After all,
commitment requires a sacrifice.
For me, no demand could be too high.
Take reality as collateral.

I made plans and promises and time,
surrendered them to an idol whose empty form was so powerful,
it wrung my wisdom dry.

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There’s a profound form of arrogance in thinking that
the pile of wet rags and dog fur that constitute your person
could have a positive impact on the lives of other people.

But if not that, what else are you here for?

He wondered at my mind,
chewed noisily on my thoughts,
found himself in my perception, and
cherished the questions in my mouth.

And then he stopped.

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