Off Frame / In Frame

--to RLC

Language is the blood of thought,
And so the sun sets alongside two
Crows. And beside them two men
Who belong to a moonlight town.
Their eyes are rivers and sighs—as
If the past were flowing into every
Moment. And soon the birds take
Flight to finish their songs. Soon
Enough the moon’s mouth is one
Blushing serenade. The unmowed
Grass is a chorus. The tall blades
Say “Shhhhhhhh/Shhhhhhhh” over
& over. At some point, the daydream
Continues on: & out in the distance
There’s a blue tent beside the water.
Curiosity allows us to see two dark-
Haired figures scurry inside. They
Won’t emerge for a few more hours.
When they do, it’s all sticky smiles.
And the man leaves a sweaty pool
In a woman’s bellybutton and his
Tongue swims for redemption. This
Is one way that love begins. There
Are a million others. It could start
With glances meeting across some
Vast room, or with whiffs of perfume
Dangling five feet above a sidewalk.
No matter, at some point it always
Whirls through the imagination, and
When it does, you allow yourself to
Believe. And surely, that echo of
Childhood laughter can’t be too far
Removed from the tap in your feet.
Surely, we haven’t given up on King
Or Yeats or Petalesharo.* Somehow
We might yet find the heart nothing
But a thick-petaled flower wilting
Toward Jerusalem. And what to make
Of water’s reflection at your feet and
The perfect sound of snapshots falling
From your hands? And if you could
Orchestrate beauty for one day, how
Would you begin? What diseases,
Deceit, or heartache would you first
Delete? What would God / Buddha /
Allah make of a day without rescues?
And somewhere across the expanse,
Dawn is cracking out of its shell with
Another explosion.

*Petalesharo was a Pawnee Indian, mythic in stature, who ended the Morning Star Ceremony during which a young woman was sacrificed.

copyright 2005 Todd Fuller
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