|
Quick to cry, nothing left. |
|
No fountains rise, no rivulets. |
|
No, "One last thing...", or "See you then.". |
|
Unwind the scarf from around your neck. |
|
Turn to climb the catwalk rise |
|
the switchback to the other side. |
|
Cars whir under the overpass |
|
a nosebleed for no reason. |
|
Hey there, pal, oh, pal-o-mine. |
|
If you followed my advice, |
|
you're winding up the onramp rise, |
|
fast approaching the overpass. |
|
You see me standing at the crest |
|
through the glass, a heavy silhouette; |
|
shoulders dropped, hips cocked. |
|
But I was only bleeding. |
|
How could you know that I was only bleeding? |
|
I know, I know, I know, |
|
I know that it is only a pinprick. |
|
I know that I barely broke the skin. |
|
The tenderness of these wolves, |
|
so curious, |
|
that's why we're always letting them in |
|
to thrash our well appointed rooms. |
|
You know, I'd do it again |
|
for the thrill of these crystalline peaks. |
|
I'm gasping your wilderness in. |
|
Switched back to the other side, |
|
scarf trailing behind, |
|
the scheming briars, the would-be snags, |
|
unraveled it all through my hands. |
|
You're polishing portholes in the glass |
|
with the cuff of your sleeve; |
|
coffe cold, a thermos cup. |
|
Shame is cooling on your cheeks. |
|
Yes the rivulets did rise |
|
and as they arced into the light, |
|
frozen, twisted, splintering, |
|
a hush of 'ticks' and 'pings' |