1 New Poem

What You Keep

I rolled out the sigil for you:
not breaking against waves of
grain amber, swinging vines of
palm, standing in the middle of
seconds ticking, turning cold
from blank standing of lights
after dusk.

You swam to shore, dripping:
I had been breathing (heavy, deep,
swirling), gathering words for
matchsticks to keep warm against
the flashing white righteousness,
the ink jet print of runaway
typing.

The pulley systems, dumbwaiters that
take us across the life stage,
curtains closing behind with velvet
precision are not the things
for me;

I just kept them in reserve,
just in case of failure.