grass and elm stretched tall and wide,
a grey-calm sky recovering like
someone just finished crying.
could I remember these days?
billowing clouds and swelling sighs building
in hearts and lungs. lips breathe and release
heavy waste like an exhaust pipe. I wonder,
will I remember these days?
nature makes a man feel peace, serenity,
understanding insignificance, no matter
the road ahead or trials behind him.
should I remember these days?
no, but they are necessary.
transmuted misery of too many days in bed,
and cold heart and stiffed hamstrings.
when does Christmas end
and the new year starts feeling
like an old one. Montauk’s
got secrets that won’t leave
Long Island. Behind the lighthouse
inside a dark home we made a
cozy indent of what’s familiar.
stretched and spread in shapes
that wind and coil, tense with sweat,
passion as a form of exercise.
exhausted happiness, out of breadth,
grinning and blessed in natural serenity
and gentle sin. done up in rhyme
such madness to enjoy.