re liable

last night we went to our clubhouse,
nickey, chad, ida following the sunset path
through the sagebrush, past the aspen
and the pinkening donkeytail succulents
to our place between the two pines
on that awkward slope that sores legs
or jambs toes to sit on.
just in time for that first star.
we talked abt what new orleans is like
abt a fantasy mansionhouse
and our brilliant year-round gardens.
a man came up from the house below.
we met him the night before,
he told us we got his curiosity up
bc there lives a family of fox
and a coyote who chases the babies around.
he thought we might be them.
I think abt fox & coyotes a lot
I think how I'd like to join them.
last night he came & sat with us, this neighbor
he was glad to hear there were some liberal people living in the stepford houses
he told us that we were saved for this time,
that we were reserved for this moment
to carry the future. to teach, bc we have the structure
to teach the careless generations beneath us.
he told us about his world drums, slurring his speech,
ice jingling in his plastic cup
he invited us to his sweatlodge.
I was looking at the fullnight sky, by now
envisioning you, flipping your hair
miles & miles away
I was thinking of what I'd say to you had I been filterless
promises I'd make & keep
drives to take. getting you at me.
I am not a wish
  but I am a big future
and I committed to the notions of
  gratitude & accountability
     for my good fullfuture hands
I like the wild dog path we're taking
past the sucs, past the aspen
and I like the certainty that I'm contained, somewhere
there
in a promise to the selves I will undoubtedly keep

being for the afternoon

The reorganization of dream clothes, the inevitable circle the rainbow display can make. The inevitable dismay can make. My impossible love. 

We walked along the muddy path, making erosion all the more knowable. The dogs in their short legs, prancing, or raging, or lumbering along, and our hands holding to stop feet from eroding down the slippery slope. Across a log across a creek, "the confluence, the confluence!" The brambles in my gray tights, o favorite gray tights, and a hole and arunning up and down. The freezing such running water makes in air surrounding. Muddy boots, laced up with mud, socks, pulled up to knees by mud. The muddy man riding through on his muddy bike, the lightfooted dog leaping over muddy flows. I looked around, and there, in the sun, freckles & eyes of tiger and soft midsections. The colors, and the colors. You & I in reverse symmetric eternal rainbow closet organization style. Thanks for the dreams, brains.