april 2

 photo by johan bergstrom.

Meanwhile by Richard Siken

 
    Driving, dogs barking, how you get used to it, how you make
                                                                     the new streets yours.
Trees outside the window and a big band sound that makes you feel like
                everything's okay,
    a feeling that lasts for one song maybe,
                                       the parentheses all clicking shut behind you.
                      The way we move through time and space, or only time.
The way it's night for many iles, and then suddenly
                                                                                                it's not, it's breakfast
     and you're standing in the shower for over an hour,
                                                         holding the bar of soap up to the light.
I will keep watch. I will water the yard.
                Knot the tie and got to work. Unknot the tie and got to sleep.
                                                                          I sleep. I dream. I make up things
      that I would never say. I say them very quietly.
                                                        The trees in the wind, the streetlights on,
                        the click and flash of cigarettes
being smoked on the lawn, and just a little kiss before we say goodnight.
              It spins like a wheel inside you: green yellow, green blue,
                                                                                           green beautiful green.
        It's simple: it isn't over, it's just begun. It's green. It's still green.