Hushed

The
hush
descends
upon the moment
bare knuckles cracking
into each other
rather than
slipping past

picture-perfect words become illusions
from another time and space
what was your name?
your real name
the one that
only a lover
would
know?

there was a way
I’m sure there was a way
that these fingers slipped in together
and clasped into an embrace
as this moment feels it
should have been

“Shhhh…”
she whispers
“it doesn’t matter”
she tells
me

whatever…

Some Rooms

I could paint rings around DaVinci
with a glass of beer and a warm bar,
all in the cup of a hand,
staring

Caught by the fundamentally abstract,
both obvious and oblique in the same moment,
bends and folds and aging lines
too real

Ah yes, let me tell you about an artist
swept off into the corners of underestimation
for all it was that might have been,
had we only known

The music plays and the music goes on and on,
I lean forward and watch the wetted edge
of glass draw its arcs and curves
as conclusions

I swear to god,
some rooms are so full
they become
empty.