my poems are like the death I never had
the death I might have dreamed
when I approached it ignored me
my poems are like waking up and learning bit by bit step by step this body of mine no longer flies
learning that the strange strangely familiar situation I was so engrossed in
no longer applies
my poems are like the children I could not save the innocence I could not keep
could not keep
from bubbling over and over and over
in endless cycles which do not include forgetting
or sleep
the death I could not keep the lives I could not keep
my poems are like the wonders I could not find no matter how hard I tried
the wonders shimmering quietly out there
and the wonderful wonders deep inside
my poems are like all the souls I once owned all the lives I have not yet lived
my poems are like all the memories I push aside
and all the memories I never had
concerning people who have never been kicked and wrung through the wringer never had all of the juice of their lives squeezed out of them
my daughter used to say “they don’t have a clue”
memories I had and never had
like jumbled dreams I can’t recall
my poems are like someone else’s dreams rumbling through ragged memories I could not bring inside
my poems are like a warm embrace I lost or never had
a cliff from which I could not fall
all … sputtering spattering
into and out of me
my poems are like death following me home to sit awhile and just talk
my poems are like the friends I lost and friends I’ve almost forgotten
my poems are like the fire I could not put out
the wonders I could not keep the death I never had the innocence I could not save
simmering simmering deep inside