Poem 58 Revised

Some days I awake to the sound of my breath and remember
So vivid a vision—one year’s past—of a boy with a bottle
Of rum hum drumming against a summer sky.
These are the leeks that would linger amongst the bones.
These are the bones, I told him, we are the bones.
With sleep in our speech we still whisper of when
We might come back again, finish what we began.
I would write your name across the water if
I could spin webs from my fingers. Would call
Your cross crow to the night, if I did not fear the reply
Ask what became of the body of that boy:
­We are the bones, darling, these are the bones.
—ECW

Poem 51

tree time in just a few days

Fingerpads and fingerprints
Rest wrinkled in weaving fibers of
This pillar.
Come away come away
Come away with me
Up up… with straining, buckling
Joints to climb.
Push up. Up.
Come up. Come up.
Come away with me.
Your hands and my hands
Will follow the same ladder up.
You will climb and I will follow.
I will follow you.
You and I and weaving protests
Groaning murmurs from this tree
You and I will ascend upon him
Come away come away.
Come away with me.
–ECW