we all have a task we are working on
i cannot remember what
this pool is not a pool anymore
and you, my love are standing over a sink
hands rivered in diluted blood
you are working on something
and i can see it opening cuts on your fingers
i tell you to stop to bandage your wounds
you don’t want to but do
and i try to choose the soap that will sting the least to clean you
we sit in the sunroom on the couch
like the porches we grew up in
then i see only your face
and it is covered in black ants
you have fallen into a crack in the couch
disturbing an ant colony down there
i try to get you out so i can get them off
but you are stunned and it takes a while
i leaned over to whisper into your ear
and found you had crossed the pond
while my back was turned
and stood on higher ground
where you said you could see until tomorrow
and you tried to tell me
but the wind carried it away
and besides you were still standing beside me
to my left or to my right
for a time i stood on grief mountain
which i dragged into your soft little bed
then left on some roadside in iowa
or i dropped it when the bee stung me
and my face swelled with the moon
from where you stand you can finally see that my eyes are hazel not brown
and i will always look at you as if i am lying on the ground gazing up at you in the sycamore leaves sun shining through making everything translucent you were so beautiful when i saw you last you were not always beautiful to me and then you were
let it be autumn forever
let me sit in the hot sun
tempered by the shaded breeze
let me tend fires in the evenings
let my hair smell of oak smoke
that i can’t wash out
let our paths cross and cross and cross
i want to be buried beneath you
let my knife slice the squash
i will roast the seeds and save some to plant in the spring
with the chestnuts that i will sprout in the fridge
yes i can be like this
but i don’t want to be buried
i wanted to dig a grave
but it is too late
the corpses have already been made
i am remembering to be gentle
i am carefully plucking away the rotted roots
composting them
making room for new growth
for Asti
for greeting everything and everyone, even change, gently and with excitement, a heart full, and a wagging tail