"We must go and get some things first"
before the moon's glassblower eye
curls windows into teardrops
to rain over neon
the lavender a cheek leaves
with an S of hair on the pillow,
the wax touch of lips
that seal a final letter.
We must forget the celluloid silk
of the wind's curves between our fingers
when the ocean of parking lot rears and falls
in the moon's thoughts,
calls to the sailor inside us
to seek the discount-rack island
and brave the swell of last year's colors,
find the cloth to replace our skin
that has thinned to a useless
parchment a screen-writer’s ink
or a heavy rain will dissolve.
Safe with our early purchases
we’ll watch the arms of the belated
raise bags of salt
offered for outstretched credit cards,
bags to flag someone, possibly us,
from the shore.
© 2007 Hephaestes
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