284/365

sunday afternoon
at fifteen seventy six.
ninteen ninety six?
the algebra of memory
rarely solved. laying
in the back yard,
under tender sun,
the three of us.
hair golden.
skin bronzed
lost in blades of grass
and dead lyrics:

please don't
be surprised
when you find
me dreaming too.

we’ll ride wild
horses in the hills.
i’ll clumsily take you
to that spinning restaurant
in the city. driving
across the bridge.
scratched cds
the soundtrack
of youth.

i’ll profess a love
i’ll never be capable
of delivering-
i want them if they want me-
is the saddest lyric i whisper
at dawn. the sun coming up
from the couch. the iron woodstove
burns quietly. bodies scattered
in aftermath.
 
soon i’ll head south and this
tiny spark will flicker and fade
like a firefly dying in a jar.
an ember floating too high
embraced by enough
oxygen to obliterate us.