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Month: July, 2013

The Visitor

The dog chained near the gates
Of your house bark the same tune
Regardless of the visitor, or
Intruder, as you sometimes dread.
So that afternoon, while you sit
In your sofa, half-dazed, your dog
Calls: visitor, whose name
I cannot pronounce. All the same
When you see his face — the taste
Of the familiar washes over you
Like heat slowly making its way
Through your home. Can I come in,
He asks, it is me, a name
Your tongue once knows
How to roll properly, but
The memories never piece itself
Together to form syllables to which
You can name this apparition. He must be
Somewhere in the gardens
Of your mind, underneath
The overgrowth. A name like
Grass, or croaking frogs
In rain puddles. And the dog
Barking never helps at all.

Stasis

Nights like these, the traffic is a blessing.
A reminder of stillness
In the midst of motion. You, in front of me
And our knees barely touching
As we try our best to occupy
This vehicle. Also, the rain
Has fallen. The windows
Are open; soon, tongues
Of rain set themselves against
Your neck: half-lit incandescent
Streetlight, shadows in gradients
Across the face. The drops zigzag
To make home of your collarbones,
The smallest dam in the world
And I admire how your fingers
Never move an inch
To flick them as they slowly
Make their way down your shirt, each drop
Without the intentions of stopping
Colliding against each other.