and with the blurring quality of a spanish sunset
i ought to stop dreaming of the miracle
they [nora knows] don’t happen ever
no fool but i expects
a man to build a roof over the pedestal
everyone knows statues have no eyes to worry about rain
sleep like trauma washing over me washing dishes
as if salt could wash away a man-made stain
what call you this
a fading jaded tan line of black bags under the eyes
what am i now
a landing strip stripped bare so there!
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above the mountains, touching rooftops
where dreams are made through Kais and Gerdas of tonight,
their flowers – moondust
eclipsing the broken shells of sky.
i tell you, soar,
as if there was no tomorrow – who knows
if there will be a today.
i see horizon cracking at the edges, burdened with heavy clouds
of rain. cumulative correlation of cumulous clouds.
the very thought is raining on me.
so build your wings, Icarus:
i keep one eye in those clouds to watch over your flight.
as though you might not make it.
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