IMAGINING MARRIAGE, #36

1 0 6 Y I M A G I N I N G M A R R I A G E , # 3 6 L A U R A K O L B E A rest made of wheels and lamps as when travel stopped at night. A pause, a purse under the pillow, the wagon built of forward pinned still as a keepsake moth. If the woods were a mouth the kiss was dodged. But not the panting of the little dog, the tinsel-haired horses. In dark they scu√ and tic in camp, the mourn of the meant to move. You claim not to sleep on planes, too much in engine, too many roofs sucked back streaming nameless and gone. I would claim not to sleep in beds when each nail of each toe says out and my teeth keep twisting unretained for farther o√. But you’ve seen me at it, bad guard of an old wish that’s lost the trick of wheels. I know of bluebirds and indigo buntings, one looks brown in the bush. Can never remember which needs flight to blue. Probably the birds don’t either – know which is set o√ 1 0 7 R gusting, wings raving like a gas range stove. Who among us knows what she needs, throw that bird a stone to stir its going. Who among us can stay, let the wing be dun but with some lift, a ribskin shiver in sleep. ...