i got here by dreaming
and folding in the steady clasp of
longing sitting and waiting impatiently at my door
my tongue sings your language and
forgets my own, settled cozy in
strings of thread, soft silk thread with which
i patched up your fractures and fractured
my own skin and self--
to feel alive. poetry sleeps in me, forming peace
in percolated silence. Have i disturbed your cause?
the violets are asleep. the sunflowers are asleep.
the stars are smiling because they have known
under the sun's shine.
have we let memory slip between
the cracks our sentences have harbored?
let me tiptoe into the breakdown room and
i can steal back the past
but if i don't come back, know that i've slipped
there and fractured
so then bring along the thread of poetry and bottled
rhythm to heal me, but remember
you only get there by
not intense dreaming, but sad and
equivocal like light flooding from
the moon's bitter smile.