The Type Of Thing

It is the type of thing
where there is fire in treetops
nests are burning
child birds are burnt as old ideas
shades come back as ashes only
eggs pop as
old fireworks in question as to whether
they will sizzle and pop or
thud softly as rain on dirt

It is the type of thing
where your mind slips softly off of mine
and I stand alone without it
where you are my mistake unforgiven
you cease existing
as soon as I speak
dissolving in a rain like the last one on dirt
but this time it is raw and undaunted
and burns through like magma
and now I don’t know if it is real or
what it means if anything

It is the type of thing
where I wish we’d gotten to Mars
or Venus or anywhere not here
where we would have set at once into
making beautiful industrial land
into some Himalayan factory
smoothing impossible mountains
into a roadside sign for what is made
by turning rock fire and liquid smoke into a plan
for future rotten games

It is the type of thing
where I will look into someone’s eyes
and ask all these questions
where I will look into your eyes
for some certainty as to a windfall
from this swarm of binding blinding insects
where I will look past your face into
an incipient world on a verge of coming forth
hoping for this against all hope
the type of thing
that does not come to us often
or ever at all in fact
but we may still hope
God knows
we will still hope

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T