Le Même Chose
The pressure of being below ground
milliseconds bound to flashing lights,
grievous ties to a lover’s world.
When triumphant expressions make your own face pale
in comparison / when trumpets sound.
A retriever in the swamp, retrieving
mallards. Tamaracks speak only to the eye,
their words are coarse. (fire dust / fire smoke)
The charred edges of last night’s bonfire,
still burning, the black soot on stones.
The rasp of needle against cone, kissing,
the wind a rapture, a sound fallen
upon marsh and bones,
stacking grainy secrets
of skies unknown.
