This time, tomorrow

This time tomorrow all these children go up to heaven,
like bodies that have suddenly become too light for air.
Let them think for today, however, that time on this earth
has no limits, that the ball keeps rolling from our yard

to our neighbor's. In Amada Acres we light flares in front
of our houses, to let passersby know we are blessed.
When we get in our cars and drive away, we see the starry
yards behind us, and know that now we are leaving behind

our favorite lie. This time, tomorrow, let me not hear
that you have come back to bring yourself the risk
of this safety. Let me hear instead how the flares
never burn out, how the sleeping never wake, how cold

descends with night and night is never-ending.
posted by Adam at 7:27 PM [edit]

The rhythm nights
for Colin

This is what you have been missing lately: the rhythm
nights, when the music of the crowd is louder than the music
performed, when at the end of the show we drive home silent,
under the hush of hunger, midnight, star proximity.

This is the organ in my body that sounds like a telephone.
This is my woozy head, these are my hands rolled into sleeves.

This is the promise we made young and have kept,
a promise made before its meaning could be known,
like a peace treaty--who will ever know how many lives it saved?
The promise: that we each would live as the other would want us to,
were he dead. We'd be thankful all the while, of course,
that this is not true: after the rhythm nights are over
the nightmares land softly in morning.
posted by Adam at 11:31 AM [edit]