"Settling Down"

Settling Down


Had I thought of it years ago,

I would have told you

how my heart was a jackhammer

that night in your father's car,

though we were more like boxcars


coupling, the racket of tooth

against tooth, a hint of blood,

a desperate desire to freeze time

as seconds became days,

each hour a span of light years.


I would have said your dark hair

reminded me of falling water,

your canted eyes of secrets -

or an ancient Asian wisdom

you wanted to address -


and how much I desired

the moment to linger, like fog

on a day that begs for sun.


Of course I didn't say this,

and boys become men

years pass like lightning strikes

in harvested fields, rainbows lead

to houses tucked into ends

of cul-de-sacs. And yet


I have to say if it happens

to be October, and the moon

is full and fat with a breeze

rising from the wet night grass,

my thoughts of you become

the wooden ridge that spans


my mainland to the island

of memories I've saved,

and when that occurs I close

my eyes to think of you holding

tight to my waist,


or to a grandchild whose smile

reveals a tooth or two,

and close this book, the one

I began two days ago


of the young man

running wild through Kristiania,

who can't quite decide

the significance of his hunger.

Copyright 2012

 

 

 

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