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Saturday, April 7, 2018

Nightbooks



Conducting cellular symphonies, turning Aramaic,
landing a spacecraft as brave kids paint

and Alexa sings us a song. Where did the lightning fall
on the words? I swept the valley clean as Mars

whistling dry poems in the rain, death by creation.
The tail pulled the lion backwards, time to get lost.

We awoke to more lullabies. Bewilderment feels privilege-y.
Look it up in the dictionary if you don’t know what that’s like

the ideas of words that didn’t work out. Golden
arrows swerving towards the smallest organs in the body.

These ghosts are metaphors, I tell the kids, count seconds,
but they list off numbers too quickly to be accurate.

I can offer by memory right now no but yes will take longer
and I’ll have to be there in person on the couch beside you.

In Louisiana a bayou is a river that doesn’t flow.
If I were a river on a map, where else would I try to go.

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