The Simplest
Glass memories, the simplest
beaches, covered like spiders coming
home. Your mother
cries alone after a long day of
lonliness, which doesn't mean
anything to you anymore, spending
your time in the woods surrounding
the park, looking out across the valley,
noticing for the first time the migration of hawks --
coming home again,
Sharp. Stars like points
on a spear, holy piercing light
cascading like blood down the day.
The simplest lovers never quite what
you practiced, always slipping
like minutes and sand on beaches and
always out of your hands -- at last,
the sky goes dark like your heart.
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