A sinkful of dishes or a turned back in bed
feeds the system of quick and quiet
A root swells.
A slab of sidewalk nicks a toe. Then
a slack handshake
a chatty sister
a pyre lighting the lake
and the sudden rupture is inexplicable. But
stop. Feel it. The urge
to kill a man
is a rat in a paper cage.
The urge to kill a man
is a fresh broom in the forest.
Very Large Array
I called in suspicion. Walking home – a fogged
streetcar, fireworks to the east, the stars’
sweaty nest. The flutter in your voice
was a stranger’s smile on the stairs.
I called in anger. Rain and traffic, a basket of
rotten bananas, a splinter.
The crack in your voice was a match-head,
my tongue a trail of gasoline.
I called in desperation. Skin-shiver, achy
Creole music, oceans clutching their aqua shawls.
in your voice…
there is a place in New Mexico:
Very Large Array - telescopes
scrambling cosmic chatter. Rattle-boxes
filled with snow. Radio waves swim out
like snorklers scanning wraiths
of wet-electric. Each scope-face
wheeling the cyclopean ear,
thirteen miles long. It hears:
a lunar apogee