Poems For Television

The true sun stood out on the water

It was wading between the boats

Buoys bobbed, up and down

Inviting me to come in

A hill lead down towards the water

The bank was weak and ended abruptly

Falling into air

When I stepped out to the edge to get a better look

Dirt gave way and my footing shifted

It startled me and I remembered danger

Little clots of earth fell and clashed against more earth

Stones fell from the embankment and splashed

The water rippled like it was running from the stone,

Fearing its impact

I think I saw the water move in anticipation of the stone,

I think my eyes can lie to me,

Because my stomach wasn't sure if it were true

The stone sank to the bottom and dirt was washed from itself

The dirt from the stone and the fallen dirt from the embankment 

Clouded the surface of the water

The true sun waited

 

I could make it out to it

And

If I could hold it,

I could bring it home with me

Put it in my pocket or wear it on a chain

Like keys

But it wouldn't rattle or make noise or stab in to my thigh 

While it waited in my pocket

When I separated it from the lint and coins

And brought it up and light spilled over and out of my pocket

And as it rose over the crest of the hem of my jeans

It would light my was as I walked down the Sickle Path,

Cleared by sickle in the morning

And put to shape by sickle at noon

And kept clear by minds sharp as sickles at dusk

The true sun waited

I could try and swim out to it

Dive into the water like stones from an embankment

And watch as grime washed from me and clouded the water

I thought motion might feel good

Motion of my arms crawling overhead in the water

Motion of foot on pavement

Motion of two bodies as one

One back to the floor

One back to the ceiling

Warmth of two bellies pressed against one another

A fire cooked blood back then

And lent light to motion at night

But what if I find myself in the water

Unable to swim-

Then my ambition would fall

Like a rain or a tear drop into the current

Of the water in which I swam

And that drop would become nothing

Lost in the vastness of the wake

Its insignificance greater then its existence ever was

And the true sun would still be waiting.