“If you always do what you’ve always done,
you’ll always get what you’ve always got.”
I remember hearing this from a woman
whose face and name I’ve long forgotten,
sitting a few seats away from myself
in our little circle…
The year grows tiny:
Regrettably not the last
Time I close my eyes
I wake late to find him gone again
Boots gone with him, but favourite things remaining
I love this name of mine,
This name of no other;
This name I can’t — won’t! — kill
Just to satisfy…
I can say it, and that seems to get the message across. But all the rest of my love just falls flat.
You, far away,
have uncurled your fist for the gentle one
who travels so far,
day after day,
to climb into your palm.
I’m a ghost, haunting on stolen time
I’m surviving tonight
I’m training myself on inhibition defeat
How much drugs to kill the resistance?
I searched under dead leaves
Then in snowbanks
Then in the muddy farmers’ fields
Slick with damp autumn rain
I searched under my shared bed
Then on the highest bookshelves
…
A brother sets out
Chasing a runaway heart
Blazing through the night sky
A sister remains
Making a wish back home
On a shooting star
December 19 – 20, 2005