Wednesday, November 27, 2013

such a small thing

my love it is such a small thing
you can’t pick it up or drop it much
or try it on for size
or take it out to lunch
it deeks my better judgment
and rubbles smooth spilling its guts
or into the mathematics of the trees’ glossy mend
it whispers “potato salad” to a leaf’s tip’s bend

my love it is such a small thing
it’ll slip through any grasp that’d hold it
finer than hair follicles
it mushes and sloths and brooms with hurt
and it won’t beg or moan for more or less
it has what it is already
being empty and full of all that it holds

my love it is such a small thing
it dizzies and drizzles in the rills of a dream's palm
wrinkled and pressed
but nothing to touch
it makes its own logic from big hunks of dust
to sprinkle like powder on nothing’s “a bunch”

my love it is such a small thing
it wriggles and writhes in the margins of books
spread out and jumbled but exact just enough
to be erased or remain or coolly adjust
to a diet of pie touched with lost looks
and lobster-claw hands like pillows with hooks

my love it is such a small thing
it is heavier than a laugh but lighter than crow
and you’ll never catch a glimpse of it
no matter how far gone you go or forgo
it is inside and out and all over too
it runs in a spiral
and in the arc of a lune
it knows no steady course
but its path’s my favorite tune

my love it is such a small thing
it matters less than words
it travels less drooling than any hunting dog would
it smashes its lenses in the runny sky’s kilter
just to be off if it could
it rules and it kowtows
and when it flashes you’ll just know it
without seeing

my love it is such a small thing
smaller than the lilt and broken glass in your voice
as tiny as the daze of your crooked smile’s tilt
or the baize distance of your bunchy eyes
or the way of your hourglass on-tiptoe rise
delicately spooning out old coffee grounds
and its silence is you asleep purring almost not aloud

my love it is such a small thing
you can’t patent it or call it a cab
it’ll slither beyond any attempt at a nab
for its life’s just a curl and a moment’s gone wisp
a thing never noticed until it is missed
and then it’s forever and bigger than the world
or the universe or god
or any of that crud
because my love’s indecent and higher than above

my love it is such a small thing
and still smaller still
so it doesn’t require attention or praise or some dumb arrow
it’ll get on just fine being neutrino-large and largely ignored 
just so you know
so just leave it alone
don’t even phone
and watch how it’ll grow
smaller and smaller
if you will
and still smaller still

my love it is such a small thing
it roves indistinct
it marries the sunset to the subtlest wink
it perches in alcoves hidden in tears
it is nothing and everything and the kitchen sink
it slings gumdrops to crinkles of silver balloons
and muddies in marmalade its clown-paint face
but never goes in for an act that disappears
even in the loneliest night there’s always a trace

my love it is such a small thing
it swipes the bull from adore
and yells “ole!”
past the dropped red dress on your floor
it’s the bite of your violin sigh
it’s the tinsel’s twist in your style
it’s starry and rough and wornthrough and long
it’s a prayer’s soft luck and a crippling song
it’s a sewing machine’s rumble
or coloring’s crush
where angels get drunk
in the voicemail’s hush    

my love it is such a small thing
with nowhere to be put
it won’t float or drown
or stay or flee
or make up its mind or just disagree
so i keep it close and away
at once and for always
for never and for keeps
and for just the hell of it
i guess
like my sink’s dripping
some rhythm to have
when there’s nothing left to sing

don’t worry
i won’t mention any of this
to anyone ever
my love’s a small secret stashed and stowed in forever
and i won’t let on
that it’s in all of my ways
some specter that grovels and haunts all my stays
puts the world round and spins it through all of my days
i’ll be mum when it comes to all of this stuff
in public or private i’ll call it a bluff
don’t ask for my love
on any new or old day
because it’ll be gone
and here just the same