parts of snow

the night goes dark
while i listen to that one wave
that keeps heaving
on the same pile of stones
like a long sweet heartbeat
i picture you turning your lights off
and sighing in the blackness
you don't picture me,
that is the difference.
i am trying to marry two words
craft some sentence
trap the right notes in ether
to some extent
in every moment,
to woo you, love
to swivel your chair half way around.
i remember each thing you have given me
do you want me to list them
i want it to be impossible
for you to be able to chart what i've done
beyond a steady watch ticking
the feathers in your pillow
love should be an avalanche
and all of its parts of snow.
do you want me to tell you,
or is it enough to just know.



a.w.

grenades

i have been here long enough
to know how to weigh sentences
as they fall from the mouth
like invisible powder.
some things we say with our eyes down
or our cheeks warm
some things we whisper
like a secret we were supposed to guard
some things we shout down a hallway
or up a staircase
over cables
and lightning bolts.
no one collects them
or translates them
and i have been speaking long enough
to know that they all weigh
just the same
whatever the color
or sweetness
they had on our tongue.
i have found myself dropping grenades like
"i was starting to love you"
but the grenade never goes off
it doesn't even tick
just falls like the same powder
that fell from my lips
when i woke up and said
"i wonder if it's warm outside."


a.w.

book no. 2

many years ago, about 10, i put out a poetry and songbook collection called split infinitive. in the next few weeks i will finish editing a second. it will be in three parts, three stages of my life from the past decade. mostly poetry, with some journal excerpts snuck in. since i've been struck down by tendinitis these past few months and haven't been able to touch my instruments or much else, this seems like the ideal time to focus on words all by themselves.

the little mermaid

“But if you take away my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what is left for me?”

in the night i go sailing

my night is a restless
whispering thing
at my ear
like a ghost
tireless in its haunting

if i try to love you
as hard as i hurt
something to rise to the surface
a white preserver
sprung from the black night
will you let me cling

if i scatter more touches
this time, than last time
will you please read into it
you know the touches i mean

i think if you find me sleeping
at last
it will be with your name
like a wreath in my hands

(it is not the things we take with us
to the grave
it is the things we weigh our boat with
to get to sleep)

the night is a push
from the harbor
the sound of calm water
the ache of trying to translate
the new language
of your scent in my hair
even though i can't remember
the last time you touched me

the long wandering of bare feet
the eternal wait for your response
it pulls
like the sleeves of my sweater
that i clasp in my fists
as i warm my palms

are you going to let me keep clasping
let me close my eyes
let me push the boat out
to somewhere that is still enough
that the first thing i feel
when the dream starts
is your arms
because i've waited long enough
already


a.w.