Like Angelic Clocks

Like Angelic Clocks

(“I will always look to you, as you stand beside me and protect me from fear.” Psalm 16:8)

I’d sit here forever if it could last
one more minute like angelic clocks counting down
the crevasse between dinner and lunch.
Those empty afternoon hours fill more than
straight-line pages of poetry jotted down to
cross the impasse between being and July.
Summer is a luxury;
noon is a magician’s wand;
dusk is a certain measure;
midnight the loon call with moonbeams
setting the backyard cedars on fire like
origami crepe paper. I wouldn’t blame you
if you scratched your head while I cut
a whole sentence out of fabric I found at
the Goodwill.

I’d invite you over for a beer;
I’ve wondered if you are aware that
your breath has moved me closer to shore
than I have been in twenty years.
I don’t mind the ocean, but the salt
has blocked my pores. I need a second
sunrise before we embark on this second act.
I don’t mind if the curtains fall,
I don’t remember the marks. I was cast before
first call. I knew what sparkle was;
I knew how daydreams swore. I wore
every word you unwrapped for me like a
t-shirt with an unknown logo pointing us back
to illumined mornings. We could hire a boat
to take us further from shore.

I’m in the mood for an adventure today.