Jun 232016
 

 

Rae Gouirand

 

 

The question is always

what I want, not what is wanting—

 

what end I will make of this walk

which edge I will take for myself.

 

Before one blue one gold

I know two things.

 

The same that has held me open

leaves me to see. Our brick

 

is cold, our shoes no longer fit.

I woke crying out for what I wanted

 

over and over like it snowed.

I was snow.

 

Looking hard at what has lasted

it tears. It tears a little as I live.

 

What do I remember

that second eye waiting on me.

 

If I could say how I got here

I would—

 

so whiten these folded knees

focus myself after stars

 

make crystal air where

air was clear. I am

 

a brick walk, I am

my own breath. Out those

 

windows snow

more than we ever asked for

 

beyond what lamps we burned.

I think about willing myself.

 

Always the question

which eye you are looking out of

 

which you are looking into

these moments we spend

 

locked or tossed

as what pulses pushes back.

 Posted by at 11:06 pm