Is that your self indulgent
Plunge into the pungent
Muck of a plummeting
Stomach/When all else
Melts like snow at the
Summit of summers
A river arrives where
The mountain thrives
Like vines or veins/I can
Hear how close to alive we came
That simple time we tried to seem sane/
If you and I could rise like the air off the flame,
If we could hide what we cried like tears in the rain,
Before the shoreline dried down to low tide erasing the wane
Of the moon as soon as it drained
Without words
Like sounds of loon birds
Like the skies were stirred blurry
With tonic and gin
And no memory
Of the ice-white clouds
Occurred important therein
No pink of plankton
Streaked the wharf of stars,
Twinkling with the scales of a herring,
Glaring ‘gainst a backdrop as black as chars
/If the night’s eyesight could only be ours/