Preludes

 Prelude One
  
 Only the white lace stays lit.
 Actually, it was the garden.
 Burning rosemary, love, love,
 I’m dancing my summer away.
  
 Your voice an amulet
 remembering my name.  
 I lied.
 I said I was leaving.
  
 *
  
 A Woman Calls Back
  
 Faithless, we come destroyed
 with the smell of morning
 in our hands. 
 I slept last night
 as your guest in the pocket
 and the pillow.  
 There were plenty of sweet lost leaves.
 Not crafty in any way,
 we break flowers.
 Most things I cannot help.
  
  
 *
  
 Prelude Two
  
 Our throats, our sore
 Yes, this is my powdered paper-gaze,
 your inked eyes and chin.
 Meant to burn,
 our magic turns petal-fisted
 with drowsy thumbs.  
 We hide ourselves
 like little feet.
  
 Who wants rain or cool?  
 A glass kick in the ass
 sounds just as free. 
  
 Look—
 the bee balm spreads even
 and even keeps the jigsaw puzzler’s lover
 from spilling his own juice.  
 We’re still not getting any luckier
 at where we lay our heads.
  
 *
  
 Forever the thirsty girl, 
 no one knows I love you
 and your two-toned wingtips—
 if you have them.
  
 *
  
 BUT ANYHOW (SORRY ABOUT THE
 INK COLOR CHANGE) THANKS FOR
 THE CARD YOU SENT ME, & SORRY
                                              THAT I DIDN’T REPLY SOONER.
          I WAS TRYING TO REMEMBER
          ALL THE PLANT NAMES.
  
 *
  
 Learning to Look
  
 The first face I see
 when I look out the window hanging in the window
 is cut from red velvet.
  
 Didn’t we—
 in the mirror?  
 A file for everything:
 his boots, thunderclouds,
 flowers—convertible—compressed
 into scarred faces on thin fingers.
 The little diamond is now a windchime.
 Oh, what I’ve been missing.
 I thought, At Last!
 But this isn’t working.
 This isn’t work.
  
 Fingers placed on the pulse of fever.
 Double when you kiss me.
 Throat-itch, 
 the moon.
 Yours lights,
 mine beams.
 This is what is
 working.
 Your mind without training wheels.
  
 Sleep-twitch
 tick, tick, tick
  
 Attached to bashful
 like Giselle with a tendon-stretch
 a safe trip—
 if we don’t go anywhere
  
 Doesn’t anyone want me
 to walk 
 on the moon again?
 Because I can.  
 I mean:
 I will.
  
 *
  
 My hand is caught
 in the phlox.
 That’s what the neighbors say.  
  
 Moving like glue, 
 or myself, 
 I drink from the same cup.
 I will not share my childhood spoons.
  
 *
  
 You took your mind off lipstick
 the night I was named Miss Kiss.
  
 *
  
 Answers to Questions I Was Asked Today
  
 I could romanticize it—
 that I could feel his breath on my skin.
 Or, I could just say
 he’s a mouth-breather.  
 A Visit to the Mister
  
 This morning, 
 he has to get up early,
 waking to walnut and oak.
 Pay no attention as he reaches
 for a nice white shirt.  
 He likes them wrinkled.
  
 *
  
 My failures to suspend
 result in an appeared hero.
 Sometimes I say 
 I’m not mad.
  
             Thanks for the new pants.
                                                 They’re not new.  You wore them last summer.
  
 I thought I heard you say,
 Shark! Shark!
 But it was sharp.
 I hide in white corners.
  
 *
  
 Prelude Three
  
 Yes, we are together
 in the sermon industry,
 did you know?  
 We accept our word
 rather than keeping it.  
 Our neighbor birds
 do not like us.  
 They say we crowd the dove-bath.
 We prefer tulips to phlox.
  
 *
  
 Prelude
  
             The morning dove bleats in threes.
 We take our eyes
 to the one-hour photo,
 and they come back as sideways glances.  
 Sara’s shoes are in the center circle.  
 She, I hear, has nice ones.
 Julie’s shoes are in the—
 blink, blink
 to remember me by.
 The o we weave
 Forgive the giving in
 Forget the ivy
 convince me there is a tea-tree
 show me how the bathroom mirror
  
 Can you move over, teacup?
 can you follow me, border, border, bored.
 The rash you planted, 
 you can dig it up now.
 We sweep.
 I thumb the cup your lips touched.
 Cream like that, border.
 You can dig that rash up now.
  
 I found a cove within a cave.
 Something like a stain—
 resembling something like a scream--