High Flying Bird

in Bluebeard’s Castle court-yard

I cut my mouth on thorns

beneath the weeping willow

she kept my hands to herself

and the shy kindness of strangers

standing en pointe in a headlight ballet

she already knew then what I wonder now

her silk scarf, my camouflage boots and a flat-foot five mile walk back

tripping though midnight so kind to her face

her cat just sat in the window waiting

to illustrate

the eyes of our time

blowing in the wind

gingerbread walls and a cotton cheese ceiling

Hansel & Greta Jones in the next room sleeping

(it's raining tonight

everything I want is wrong)

we kidnapped last Wednesday at the Karma Café

her unemployed heart and fingers drumming along the Nile

who can address the thin runny mile of eggs and

the sad affect of her apple cakes

there’s only one way to be

according to her aunt Socrates

don’t sleep ‘cause you might dream

I thought there was more to it then that

I wish there were more to us then this

the way she hands herself over it's akin

to some new final religion

something I’d dreamed about but didn’t dare believe

till it happened that once and that twice or so to me

time’s totem circle cipher, she

peppered me with confusing adjectives

a short sword play on melancholy melodies

partly I’d Français, she translated the rest

in the language of love and summer

saying adieu

when autumn was what we were hoping for

the only good bye is someone else’s

spied a high flying bird

somewhere far from the nest

it’s all her sky now and all the rest

Abraham and the angels surfing

on the head of a pin

the hard metallic taste of truth

and 2nd guessing

been up too late for too long

it’s cold next to her when she’s gone