an inkstorm summoned under live oak we dreamed. daniel boonelight

forgiveness

      forgiveness

      forgiveness

      in me

      partmeets 3-28-16

      to climb into the recesses of memory

      where i store your sanguine soul-saving face

      perfect in its listening moon eyes

      and flush from earnestfelt loving

      i can encapsulate every thrilling forgettal

      of time and worry unto the bounty

      of simply being alive and name it you

      how could i let any rust of blame

      for anything cancer the willing mind

      when there have been cornucopias

      of redemption splendored with your

      fair countenance upon my daily doings?

      there is so much pink and supple

      to be pressed between a couple

      thousand heartbeats (which is to say that)

      sometimes it's only space between

      in a day that paves my blinking way

      to our endlessly enchanted partmeets

      nothing and everything 12-19-16

      there's nothing, nothing, nothing

      we could invent

      that would replace

      the type of essence passed

      in sharing actual space

      well it's taken so long

      and the smoke signals they try

      and we want and we grow

      meantime attempting up top

      what is down below

      and yet as real and as wordless

      as eyes looking in eyes

      from the time when first that was

      it was everything, everything, everything

      alternatives to the numbing things 6-30-16

      there are really good alternatives

      to the numbing things, there are

      ways of reappearing not disappearing

      ride a bicycle to main street with a sunflower

      tucked in the basket, and buy the ingredients

      to make a strawberry rhubarb pie from scratch

      the very same way your great grandmother

      did for all seven of them before it was time

      to wash the diapers while humming a tune;

      or call up an old friend whose phone used

      to connect to you across lines and poles

      into the deep recesses of night while you

      two spoke dreams and secrets aware of the moon

      and this time ask to meet them by the river

      so that you can give them a mix you made

      and so y'all can catch up over glazed croissants

      and you can take a half-blurry photo

      of the two of you laughing while recalling

      old lovers but the picture will take on meaning

      or you can sit at that old piano for the first

      time in who knows how long and trace out

      whatever shapes need to be made in order

      to sound the complications of what little

      shadows of understanding are left tucked

      inside the cracks and corners of people's

      busy hammerings of wind-up motion about

      and sing a song so blue for each and every doubt