after the end
I don't blame you for attending to those born without
perception of the heartbeat between the feathers
of two red-crested cardinals
or between the beats of two tortoiseshell butterflies
or between my fingers and your strawberry
radiance of complex completion
such as that the misty nimbus laid on the gold ore clouds
up where they dance in the wind-jittered sun-fall
After all we were born with the vestigial vena cava of each other
as if a scent of oak-aged cab caught in our nose before we were born
or a trill pecker's chirp hung in our lobes as we were made
or an amphora-bearer's caress soothed the wrinkles of our older souls
smoothed our baby skin and brains and other organs
Nor is it rhetorical when I ask
how many can have this connection?
These two sparkling shards of water diamond flash wet
amid an evaporated memory of the breeze your father's footsteps awoke
a time when the pavement sizzled of oil from cars and tacos
and your crayon rainbow melted and dripped
while the real rain vaulted across the hills
And now you feel a bitter twitch of a servile muscle conveying libations
to soothe the parched mind when the dream of the bed shared
belched its last creamy foam on the beach
It did so solely to remind the one who holds these words
where it was we lived and what kind of lives:
We were sea bird sailors, you and I
wings over the blue deeps
farm laborers with perforated patterns of apple light piercing our straw hats
red woven through the cotton of our fingers catching the prime Amador grapes
bruised by gentleness into rolling to the ground in which the hopes
of our passion wait for Schliemann or a Quman Cave spelunker to unearth
Let us be buried naked
because all our afterlives we'll either be together skin to skin
or if we're kept apart not one thread
of this world will be worth wearing