derailed by our own parallels,
our separate mythologies
like an Amtrak train
from NYC to Montreal;
and the newest postcard
shifts to ready regret
as we try to win the future.
past autumns of poems of revelation,
invitation to turn a ruin into a wreck,
I was hungry and you were delicious;
that's all it was, that was all.
that was what happened.
love is an angel's arrangement of safety,
and coincidentally we were dangerous
no matter what, no matter when,
because desire desire desire of
anything is like empty pockets of earth.
I am fishing here,
and if it takes forever
to catch something from you,
I will keep casting this net,
hoping the world doesn't end;
practicing what I will say
if I run into you on the Rumbler.