A single hello
by the flicker of a fire’s metronome;
a countdown by moonlight,
in a backyard of some uncle I’ve forgotten about,
but regret—it all started for us.
I see a single event transpire that changes everything.
I see fireflies collide; equations finally equal something
I can wrap my head around.
Webs trap our songs;
you come to me like a siren in a cavern of some great fable.
And something close knocks fists together, the first wolf of
the evening looks upward for long stretches of time.
It’s not good. Never looks good.
The side of the moon you’ve been sleeping on.
I shed a few tears for the chains and weep a week’s worth of salt
for the assumed arch of your spine, if I’m lucky enough to travel there.
Just to even out the taste, I guess I’m drinking too much whiskey tonight:
burning while it goes down—a soldier’s poetry made me cry.
My dear, I explode then move on, like it never even happened.
My uncle’s backyard: a hurt locker—
it’s way too late for much else,
but a single moan, emitted like a koan—
never to be translated or
translated too late.