The Salt Across Your Face

if in the corners of the
world ropes dangling from
where the sky is being held
up you are still searching
to bury every fallen star so
their ghosts
will not flash seemingly
across your skyscapes
then cold winds
shall be salt across your face.

the flowers that are careful
and windblown by the
driftwood
across your backyard take within themselves the pride to be
weak and the knowledge to be strong. that is the way in the
smaller things
you should cup them and learn how to grow twisted
fragile roots so that
every time you are
lifted gently from the sand it
shall not cut so.
hurt so.
that is again salt across your face

the scar under your left eye
where you left the sea for
the first time trying to bring
home craggy rocks from the
pier slipping where the mossy
water held beneath your fingernails.

and that city where you have decided you will never go at any time when the house is darkened when the flowers are wrapped thru' winter's starry gaze when the ocean freezes to glass the pillars of salt all your looks backwards and you have decided once more that you have died one too many times

in that
city (which
you will
never see) the salt
is not in the
wind but where
shadowing
and feather cross
the perfect formation of a locked box made
on a ship of ocean wood

that shall be the salt across your face
and you shall be hungry again
and I will
be standing
in the
water

which has melted as you have gone