1 New Poem

Sun Knows Shade

In basement days, I was shade:
fearful for harm in crunching digital
bit-bobs, silence of heartbeats
still with grease plate sweat, breathing
chain smoke, listening to tap drips,
vinegar washing runs.

I made secrets of crossing wires,
of match-burning twine in thinking
of branch bank clearance, to point
of naked shaking, dull plastic-handle
razor blades.

But I wouldn’t know so long
for that, how much waiting would come:

I wished lighter, less bad dreams,
productive motors’ smooth hum,
antibiotic living.

It’s bursting now, possible pasts,
journeys left locked in lip service,
but drawn to blood thrill,
drawn to the form-function
of light.