so here we all are at my funeral
watching the raise up
watching these tattered blue hands curve
back into berries
spinning so acutely with so much speed:
an atom, or planet, or clock wheel
watching these little piglets entwine
with those old rough sticks
the gray and gold woven
loose like a fertile blanket
and I ache so hard to be
that age again
because i loved you so much,
was a thin melon sliced up
easy
and sogging up the napkins with harps.
i was a fool, a flappy tongued fool
who had torn bruised knees
and sweet open eyes
a green topped summer lake:
the shore as anxious for tan kicking legs
as i was ready.
when the hunt still warmed me up
and i could feel the knock-over
like a cardboard house in wind
when i courted you
now there are enough shadows
in this skin, you could sew
a book of pages together
and these eyes
are small hard beans
but my chest is still open and
facing up.
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