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Something in the Air
There will be thunder when I'm gone,
something in the air, just as
there is rain now you're no longer here.
Sudden sparks in tinder, dry earth spitting flame
in afternoon heat—never doubt
that that'll be me just as surely
as this chill drizzle, this soaking mist
seeping up the estuary from the sea,
insinuating itself into
every zinc-painted cleft of bridge,
sneaking its cold fingers beneath collars,
under doors and into shoes, is you.
We're joining in at last, you see, the riff
and chorus of the world insisting
that we do, though for years we pretended
it had nothing at all to do with us.
Come on, man, lend me some dignified drizzle,
chill me out and I'll burn off those sleet-bloated clouds,
toss you the very best of my thunderclaps.
Let's tap these feet, move our bodies onto the floor:
it's not too late, never too late, even now.
Rhetoricity
i mean to mean
but don't know what it is
i mean to mean
you and me
me and you
which is the more privileged?
our presence here is
the only meaning i can hold:
this bed, this time
me in you, you in me
this sleep
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