Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Like Urban Tumbleweed

Like urban tumbleweed the
plastic grocery bag blew across the empty
overcast park, green with the whispers of
storm;
we watched it approach, you
nestled into me, silent, from across the
grassy expanse and pavement, with the same
nervous smiling, quiet intrusion any other
stranger might have greeted us--
tipped its rustling head and averted its eyes,
leaving us to our leaves
and our close, closed eyelids.

Before dusk
the city silence
can only be cherished for its fleetingness--
we speak reverently, hushed, as though
any great noise might break this moment
like a cloud breaking through the
taught fragility which we breathe like sighs,
and rain with beautiful
expectedness.
With the first damp nose speck,
with drizzling inevitability
I find out your texture,
find myself entangled and enmeshed as
roots breaking through the surface;
And in this instant each chip and fragment
returns and
reassembles a
wholer man, a stronger man,
I feel I could hold you always under this
umbrellatree,
caressing each hour as a living thing,
a stray,
could smile and,
hansclasped,
defy these lovely clouds with our
tearlessness,
our inviting orphaned togetherness.

Trees and wind offer an alto prayer for my
ineloquent lips.
Distantly
I can see only shapes of mountains through the
dirty unshowered haze,
but near me I can see you
and you are beautiful.

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