cabin

I love to write.  But I hate to start.  I love to ramble.  But I hate to edit.  I love to create.  But I hate to expose the creation.  That’s the great thing about a blog, you can take your creations, throw them out into the ether and pretend that (or actually know that) no one sees them.

so i went out on a limb and wrote a poem…about a cabin on a beach in uruguay

a birds nest in the eve
just over my head
grassland sparrows
settling in
murmuring
perhaps of days end
perhaps of flight
in early mornings i listen
to their constant
comings and goings
tiny birds feet
on my wooden ceiling
muted salvos of fluttered wings
whistled calls of greeting
and farewell
sounds nearly impossible to hear
in buenos aires
city of noise
of dissonance
of broken breath
here the wind blows in a stiff line
and when it rests the rain moves in
a wet-gray intermission
between gales and
scoured-blue skies
pupil-black skies
riddled with brilliant
bits of shattered universe
this cabin careens through it
my morning feet feel the dust
on aching floorboards
ramps of 8:00 am light
expose every mote
suspended in their path
and bleach two pools
of white-warmth
onto my chest and thigh
i stand confused
for a moment
sure ive lived every one
of these sensations
just as exactly
in some distant then
when the light hit
other softer skin too
when a rumpled single bed
was vacated by two
lovers
of which i was one
the wind like water
washes overhead
dull thuds of loosened shutters
of ill-closed doors
that punctuate
this otherwise endless sentence of air
this infinite rushing word
crickets chirr
a rolling blink of sound
the high-pitched heartbeat of night
i close my eyes yet again
hoping they will open
yet again