goodness gracious, my eyes

forget in a hazy evening you

my joy,

because the oak man

smeared his oils across the sky

in palms of golden ease:

into the chair now,

into the chair,

declining into the rewritten

soup of a new generation,

sick, strong,

and devilishly normal

in the face of the ancient

shake of the hands,

a feathered gratitude

rises to the occasion,

laughter and ash

i cannot undo these shoelaces

like i can jumble

my memory

into a thousand puzzle pieces

with my clocks hanging

echoing our history

i wrote a screenplay for you,

it was easy to cry before

i even put my pen down,

sinking into a freshwater bath,

scarred and adorable