The Art

The need for interior
the dialogue with characters
discussing plans
now I remember a gray woman
in brown with indeterminate hair
talking with her hands
she gets my attention
but I don't let her know
this is the art of lying
the art of being

People try to explain
the main points
they effuse and importune
feeling their extremities
and the common earthly balance
but all too often these
efforts fail while
exposing the rest
in time it doesn't matter
and love spreads itself thin.

I Breathe Mountains

I breathe mountains
sip trees
inhale highways

Tap out the beats
on the railroad
feel the pulse
of telephone wires

Dream in the uncut hedges
and high grass
scent pond scum

Feel the wind
through branches

Huddle up for buildings
where frozen souls
clench their buds
in perpetual
suspended animation

I find shade leaves
on the tracks
and boys running
in red shirts

Birdsong winging
Over buildings
curling treelines
reaching for the sky

On the train
from Poughkeepsie going south

I breathe mountains
and tap out the time
in the heartbeat

Of the sweet sweet land.