This is my final poem for Tupelo Press Thirty Poems in Thirty Days, May 2018.
It's a poem of the last lines of poems from all the poetry written this past month.
Thank you and enjoy!
Poem of Last Lines from All Poems for the Month
Look at me as if I were hands pulling you out of the dark.
We don’t do things in the dark, do we?
Her hands still stained with the blood of cherries.
Self portrait in white.
Begin symphony, begin wild birds, begin you.
You and I in a boat long past midnight.
Urgent, melodic, hypnotist-
The earth lets go of you. The sinking of petals when they lost light-
We hold onto each other. We hold on again.
We are desperate for bees. There’s no turning back.
The river never looks back.
Even the river banks repeat her name.
We, the invisible, as air-
Yellow dust of bees entering fruit.
The body on fire.
Hold back. Hold back. Hold back the way the sky holds back a sudden storm.
The way you let go. I let go too.
Of water when filled with a strange light, of everything she ever was, or will be, this obsessive desire, a masterpiece.
Can you hold your breath for long?
We moved from winged form to song.
We never wanted to go home.
Friends come in and out of the rain with yellow roses, bright umbrellas, smell of desire and longing in their palms.
We shall become the delicate creature’s children’s books are made of.
A whole year we didn’t meet, but we meant to.
Her hands move forward, making flying birds on the wall behind me.
Nobody, not even the wind, knows my real name.
The master’s brush holding up all this spring.
I will always remember how we first met.
Would earth be witness enough for you?