We Will Say Rather Than Begin

ngshannon

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The region of the sky above the clouds has it’s own dark horizon.

Our books have manes, which is to say salving moments as they brush by.

Stuck at sea, this sea of callow milk and dancing lines of tan robes, which is to say home.

At the dinner table clipping nails, which is to say and say.

Lake Superior is 10% of the world’s water, lets be part of it, you say.

The songs for us to sing, which is to say me picking rhinestones off your bathingsuit.

Dear Kel, Kel-ley, which is to say pink like the inside of a dog’s ear.

When I adjust my tie am I already late? Nape of my neck a specialist without spirit. You wear those military boots on Wednesday I noticed, and they make me think about the baby horses we circled in the field behind a lifetime of cranberries and raspberries. Kel, I had a list to give you—my address starts now, officially—of my top five songs to listen to while watching a volcanic eruption, but Weimea is far off in the bad year—hazelnuts falling, the rotting soaring voice of little hens in the making.

Me ke aloha pumehana, which is to say my dog singing for the fireworks.

I breathe, and it sounds like this, you say.

You’re all slicked over and I can’t get a good foothold. You are spreading the color pencils out by their names and putting them in groups of friends. We colored the sides of the alley with whatever would come out of your parts—once you have sex in an alley it’s no longer an alley. We called a doctor after that, but hung up. Kel, I worry about the dream with the candle in the middle, no boundary, nothing red, but it was ok, you say, because I love you more than tomatoes could make me. Sometimes we say light simply because we are awake—tiny blue cars running, tripping between flat blue eyes.

Piles of it—we paused on the runway. Two days later two years ago.

If it wasn’t for the Hawaiian button up next to me I’d believe in a land of magic and fluff, you say.

I believe you.

There is a bunny on the runway, you scream.

I believe you.

I don’t think we can be together, you say.

I order a cranberry juice from the steward.

I think about a drawing you once gave to me:

A blue horse running in both directions.