You Have Nice Eyes: Three Postcards

1 August 2018

A man swings open the universe and hangs up his coat.
This arched vault of darkness.
I will take a bus through empty fields
and learn the names
of buried men.
I will learn to sing
the karaoke of the drifting bees.
See how the lightning strikes the hive
the sunflowers darken.
And once you looked at me your eyes were grey.
A silver train crossing a quiet sea.
A cage fighter in a park.
A shallow rain lake at the end of winter.
Cicadas humming
like bonsai.

See how the lightning strikes the hive
the sunflowers darken.

We passed a bonfire
I turned but then it was gone.
And then a car
the light was on they were oblivious.
You find your way between us
with your phone torch
and once you looked at me your eyes were grey.
Wolf of the forest
I have cut the eyes from the woodcutter.
I lay before you
this apple slowly falling
through deep neural orchards
eyes closed.
Your crystals spin
colours quiet on your wall.

See how the lightning strikes the hive
the sunflowers darken.

Flowers bloom on the mounds of fox dens
and the hair of a polar bear
is transparent.
In winter foxes go across the ice
scavenging for colour.
And the word for bear is wanderer.
The fur so dense
the heat
never bleeds.
The river freezes on top.
The ice runs hollow.
Like abandoned cars in city parks
the bears
waiting for spring
sleep on the dry river stones.
And once you looked at me your eyes
were grey.

See how the lightning strikes the hive
the sunflowers darken.

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