To Ghosts
Always in the here-dark,
built of designed absent light,
I look around garage bones
to play with, your soul traces
living in all the things,
your talk like mockingbirds
alarming our night warm.
Drilling a half inch bit into galvanized pipe
through which I’ll run a golden cord
the little motor (such a determined wheeze)
asks if I’m praying to a God.
No. Not right then. It’s just that I see
all of my projects in the sky,
and it takes some mumbling,
some breath to know how much
is enough, what is too much.
Whatever I work on, I see in fog,
and want it to be more of a companion
whose hands I can find, hold, on to.
- Adam Deutsch
seven Earth-sized planets
I hope
that all your rivers carry nothing
but wind, leaves and dirt;
your rain patters, shines
on obsidian mountains,
your snow and sleet go unseen,
undisturbed by foot or paw.
I hope
that all your trees sip moisture,
feast on steamy beams of light,
spurt tall and thick,
unfurl leaves of green,
turquoise, ochre, magenta;
sway, twist, shed leaves
across tangerine grass;
an interplanetary festival,
a dance that never exhausts,
withers only when the sun darkens,
fades from yellow to orange,
finally closing,
a crimson eye.
I look up to a slate sky,
glad that I can’t see you.
-David Tierney