Peacock

playing with prose poems

the sky, the sky this morning was heartache. and with you still asleep in other houses, the last thing I want to do is close off my heart from you. How can I possibly? The light uncovers everything. i just want one moment that i recognize for what it is, one something singular besides a throb in the head. I can't possibly walk backwards long enough, to undo all this mileage. This narrow birth the past allows, it swallows good intentions. I only meant to say good things, kind things, ever. but there is just so much vast, vast scorching when you have the time to stand around and watch it die, burn to the ground. waiting for the ashes to spread, or the phoenix. I am always surprised when I lift up my head again in the morning, because every time I expect life to go back to the way it was. But you changed everything, and such presences fill me up like a slow sleep, the pour of honey, the pucker of skin in morning air. membranes and sinews spread out their petals into reaching, seeking the early light. all heart center. all, all night I wait for this.