THIS IS A POEM ABOUT MEMORIES AND POLLEN 7.24.17

7.24.17

a moment of bliss dissected into its elements:

…low sun…

…car…

…smell of leather…

…open window…

…wind…

…radio…

…sun roof…

…sweat…

…book in hand…

…you…

…California…

…time…

…and we were laughing

about something

but I can’t remember what.

 

Now I’m back home.

I hear the mice in the walls

mocking me.

If they push me

far enough

to the edge,

I may tear the walls open

and rip them out

with my bare hands.

. . .

Our shared moments

like pollen,

visible in certain light,

bring me back to consciousness.

They go as follows:

(1) our son, who yet is not, and may never be.

(2) you saying: I’m glad you took me with you today. I had a good time. I had a really really really good time.


Written at 11:35 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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