I walk stumblingly and loud
The way that us man-apes walk
And the birds rustle in the brush –
Then ascend

It doesn’t matter how old I grow, the kings of Egypt
will never say my name. Not only the first-born succumb
to loneliness. We all live that way, aging like wine.

I feel like the dawn
over the ocean
after a storm-
filled with hope and wonder.
How did I get here?

When Patroklos died Achilles screamed
and the clouds rained down
because they thought it was thunder.

She christened him Ernie the second/she pulled him from his breathing box and held him jello-like/way up/shaking him a little/a cap of bells/then bringing him down/into what you would call a kiss

I ate pork buns from the Chinese bakery, open
until 8 o’clock, 9th Avenue an opening

to the park, walked from the Muni stop,
grass paths and tulips closing, the sun low in the sky’s open

umbrella.

And I, a tuneless savant, your instrument,
Parked in an allotment on a busy street,
Retching for farthings and second-hand graces,
Savage the legs of strangers, hoping to taste love.

People disappeared daily.  According to one theory, they sprouted wings and flew away.  Militias  tested this, tossing many from aircraft over the Atlantic.

We just quit barking, perplexed
By the unusual silence of our masters.

There are myths about people falling into the water after falling in love
With their own reflections, that the face they saw peering out at them
From the rocky depths of fish-fouled water was so fucking beautiful
That they just had to try to kiss it…