Once, scribbled
Suddenly (once scribbled long ago),
winter (before the autumnal light) broke through my window ,
(now along the fickle length of my arm)
as if a phone call spidering the den of night,
and pried wide my spoon bones (android and of digit) from the fat caging my heart,
and there you were:
sea and voice and sudden--
11 time zones away, from which you woke me.
Loud.
You carried a bucket of light in your voice as the sea grew wide from
Testament and grist
The Kangi of the moving of place, scribbling with the pen of your voice,
of boxes felled by time and imprint,
of the rattle in the carrying the remaining behind, the upplant, the stains,
the spider newspaper printing along the corner
the fingerprints of a poem once thought sent:
the tumbleweed dust in the corner, the wash and the light at the end of the throat.
This call our Archimedes, that shall be our Orion, ventually.
There is no app that can replace that, no code, no nimble mind,
the 1's and 0's compared, nothing with the shape of voice cascading,
the tiger run around the tree, and we shaped into leaving.
The pacific shelling up the tales carried on the back of what is awashed,
picked up the forlorn and that which was plated between us.
Turn, swerve, propinquitous night,
Ghostly but still left of bone, no longer bereft,
I am coming home to you.
