Poem 3

Here's a non travel poem I wrote for a friend...


you saw. you must have been watching
as I tried to move my heavy head back and
forth tried with futility to make it let go

because there you were
beside, your hands on my neck
wrestling knots of great strength
while we were all singing

a touch, the lightest of sunsets,
every night the sky makes for us a painting.

there you go, always pointing at the sky.

it is free, there is singing
there are moments when a sudden shift
lifts us off the hill
the sky's navy blue hand
slowly closing over us

I often wonder what a voice even is
why one is richer than another
why do we hear this way? that we
look up quickly as though angels
are among us.

and you and I
we have traveled to some rocky landscapes
together, but have climbed steadily,
perhaps for the first time.

wrestling with knots of great strength.

mountains. the prickly irritation you have
the way I hold my breath all the time
without knowing
the way I can't ever quite let go

but a look, a light step
and angels are among us
you find ways to pull at the heavy wires
on your guitar, looking for a landslide
holding your breath to move boulders
singing your breath away from your
history, away from the space
of any father, any little child
the words leave you
one after another.

every night the sky makes for us a painting

there you go, always pointing at the sky.