Rivers

It is meaningful to forget

and at midnight my tropes

are blacked-out and numberless.

The real stars beneath my feet are weightless.

When I step into love with her

it feels lifeless and tight,

because she is always out of sight.

She is locked away in a vault

a long way down, there is a balloon

up ahead floating and a tiny sound

of her breathing, but her name is cracking

there in the world that is calling.

To a girl always running

there is no use moving space out

but I like her interior

and the stages of an idea -

I can leave her in moments, constellations,

her mind is in patches and alternating beauties;

I’m glad I met her and there is no track

that is truth, only the wonder of lack

and why or why not… but she is someone

at the top, something mending and hungry

and in a blink she can be angry…

Her mind raging like lions, bones glowing quickly

she is slow to touch you and a good part

of her is a broken heart fixing.

I cannot hold her to account because the next

night is mixing, the sand drifts

winds have stopped and hopes are lost now,

fears flapping open and flickers of her glare

I don’t know where she goes to

but around the corner there is a masterpiece

and something left stolen. 

I still think she is golden. But her invisibility

is like a coffin on fire. I’m not the type

to throw stones forever because higher

up there is the gentle brush of water over our faces.

For we are all in the river of our choices.