For Silent Ear

I wonder what you do now at night,

at the height of the very hour

when heavy violet used to hit

us in the eyes

and drove us into the arms

of one another. We were so

generous with mouths

and music, food

and words.

To you I gave

myself away

with every kiss

and conversation.

I imagined you

were collecting the sweetest

pieces of me, storing them

in some deep vault

to be savored later,

when it came time

for remembering.

But in the blue arch of my dream

I saw you burying them

in the backyard,

like a dead pet.

I felt the dirt slap

again and again

on the parts of me

that I thought you swore

you would hold dear.

The space between us

grew darker, denser.

The dirt rained down.

I heard it like a thousand

hands applauding,

deafening, deafening. 

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In the hour of dreams

Tired in the hour of dreams

when clock hands slow to hold each other

and cigarette smoke unwinds

blue signatures in the air

Warm in the embrace of sunlight

the ground begs change

uproots itself from winter’s sorry smile

and turns its back to the sky

until April unfolds flowers

in places I thought life would never

grow again.