February 2, 2013

East of Nod, West of reason...

the night sky knows, Magellan is on the radio looking for a port berth

who are you
the night sky asks me
as I stand looking
listening for ways
a soul moans silences
at Winter’s midpoint

the crows, muzzle tuck
shelter against the cold
they know humans are crazy
insane enough to disregard life
but they litter so many good things
that love to shine, their caws say
they camp near the edges
of your cities and peruse
your wired communities

the night sky says
it saw me carrying old cloth
those found river stones
I was laying out prayers
into diamond shapes
stretching exhales
into clay wings
for midnight

does Dawn know to find me, I ask
somewhere between a bare branch
of that old maple and the sharp crease
at the top of the slate roof across the street

a scattered light snow
gives away direction
under street lamps
illuminates each look
into a yellow sodium sorrow
and an empty
silhouette of language
that knows what
déjà vu is made from

there are no books
or bound spells
the night sky doesn’t know
it can cut and
curl every star
and Moon’s rise
into what we see
into destiny 
into giving ourselves away
into choosing a path

polar neon signs tell us that marquees please us
that magicians, scroll maps and magnets work light
that faith has nothing to do with divinity
that algorithms are the milk here

we ask you who you are, because
we want to know if you are going
to pause or not for when you do
we know that you are not through
looking past the glass at what life
can offer outside of being broken by questions

every answer since Marconi and Tesla died
comes in the form of top forty singles
little jingles that wrangle memory
from nooses to nurseries
in the loose grasp of straws and sand
yes, we count sheep too
demand life’s liberties
all its pursuits and happiness
that our parlor tricks can use

you ask us when you crane your head
why we are the keepers of the night sky
why do we lean the peer edge of a crow’s eye
how can we keep playing chance against choice

we say humans whisper
for salvation through inquisitions
we know they position windows  
where the stars pass from shadows
to the mathematics that count
we know to keep them questioning why
we know to keep them curious
and on board atop
the tallest mast
way up high
looking out
for what’s ahead
and what was behind


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