Morning Poems

The Devolution Won’t Be Televised

/ Arambler / Leave a comment

Cockroaches of the sea
with a sting, jellyfish swarm
near our shore
and ones in Spain, Australia, Japan.
If it really is survival 

of the fittest and the bees keep dying
inland, I need to fall 

in love with a faceless
marauder, need to embrace
a new kind of welt the way I used to embrace
you and your luxurious, endangered
kisses on the rock 

studded beach, now closed
for the rest of the summer. First, yellow
flags for caution,
then red to say no
to swimming in the rip current, and now this blue. 

They are invisible
till it’s too late.  Should I have let you
bite me
the way you asked? Why
didn’t you just do it without waiting for permission? Why 

didn’t we ignore the red flags,
let the pull and drag
determine our next move? You weren’t
a very good swimmer.  This is why I must
learn how to love all over again. 

You were better
with bees in the field, protected
by a wooded hillside of Pine and Lady Slippers. 

Would Be High

/ Arambler / Leave a comment

Mention of mountain
ledges reminds her to speak
of that smashed 

pump and its heel
in her street last night, in its gutter
trap this morning. How 

do they lose
their mates, a pair severed
and shut down, a high-top hanging 

on the old telephone
wire by its one good
lace. Not the first, 

nor the last, she crosses 

yesterday’s steps
in tomorrow’s unpredictable
boots. She’s gotten this far so far.

You and Your Confluence

/ Arambler / Leave a comment

Water meets water,
she turns to witness
your exchange. A stick 

snag mud morning
before the sun breaches
all birth of unwoven sound. She turns again
to wait 

the long steel blue
wait. It’s got to be
a full moon tonight.

Bridge

/ Arambler / Leave a comment

For MJN crossing beneath,
for NYC connecting across,
for The Brooklyn Bridge rescue working destiny 

Advance your vantage
point,
this bridge,
collapse your facade of steel,
your gutted concrete floor. 

Collide your bridge maker
with mine,
collage your instinctive hand
over mouth with my eyes shut,
vocal chords spewing forth— 

a scream
a void 

to coalesce to convalesce
on one bridge
of material unidentifiable yet.
Coordinate the crossing,
bare feet, dust, and ash caked faces 

no veil could protect,
suits meaningless,
ties undone
till they become arms swaying,
a human chain
of events. 

A human behavior changing
never
no way
when
now 

your bridge maker, mine,
his, hers.
They designed bridges
to be passageways.
Make them destinations 

to be good to get no further
than this, this bridge
cannot be
a boundary
because bridges connect. 

It is still where it has been,
the destination stands
between these pedestrian elevating towers
still here.