Daring the Yellow Light

I thought of a place

that could come to be

a holding cell for

the thirst in our hearts.

I held it in my mind:

--a burial ground

piled with peat and

wilted daisies,

forgone letters tapped out

lovingly on typewriters,

a thousand lonesome glances

at the hoary swelling moon,

more caskets of clichés,

more trinkets tired of dirt.

I heap higher and higher

above the settled earth,

until it scrapes the heavens'

knees, until we've set

beneath the moon's chin

like a contemplative fist.

I pull darkening blue sky

close around myself,

wrapping it like a cloak,

as it's cold above reason

near the timberline

of memory, where

roots can't hold to time,

dates without dates,

eternities spent curled together,

conversing in a treehouse always

just at dusk, laying weaved

together in a bobbing canoe,

letting the wind pull

us about the narrow pond.

I've made a bed of all of this,

plumbing a dark sky for you

--this is where I will

rest my tired eyes tonight,

the blue daring

the yellow light.