Been Half a Year

without jumping through smoke
rings to find a trap
door you hint may lead
to solace. I imagine dropping

into a room filled with easy
breathing naked apes. I like my air
not so conditioned, like
to check those back

burners to ensure the pilot
light hasn’t died
with a summer breeze
that got too big

to ignore. Dizzy with oxygen,
I remember that boy who smashed
his fist through a glass pane

in our French door—so desperate
to escape 1969 bedroom
community ennui. One bloody wrist, a siren,

and that blue
cold stillness in his eyes. Now I could
just laugh

at these green candles
someone might ignite
if they want to.

Set Up for Reverie

A hinge creaks, the trap
door swings opens. She passes

through. It’s these details.
They weigh on her. She’s not
catatonic—she just can’t complete her day

dream. She needs to fill in
all the blanks. Where? What
begins in a coffee bar on Hennepin moves

to a Linden Hills basement
to a truck parked
on the street to a pedestrian

bridge over the river. When?
Civil twilight to midnight

with a full moon. What?

An encounter transforms
into a planned meeting
into a passionate charge

down to experience the unforgettable. Why?
Because it’s finally time.
Who? You

would like to know. If
she could just get to the kiss,
she might reveal the shadow

hands pressing against
her hips. Until then,
you can hover overhead.