Friday, July 29
AMPERSAND TATTOO
& in the likely event of a water landing
& the sea rolled her eyes
& behind us, the rattle of the gas truck dragging its chains
& run, said the elephants
& if Darwin believed it was easier to cross an ocean than this desert
& if I’m always saying one thing
& meaning another
& the empty train cars on the way to Marfa frame the clouds
& whatever is shimmer, whatever
& later, he draws himself a beard with the burnt end of a wine cork
& calls it time
& she tries a quieter herb for the beans, the one named conejo
& a skin-colored lizard pulsed on the wall
& every evening walking past the coffin shop as the light turned blue
& I mean to say a me-colored lizard
& the lizard-eyed men sold single cigarettes next to a fountain full of jacaranda blooms
& the massage therapist recently relocated from New Orleans
& the soccer dad reading Schopenhauer
& one squirrel torturing two dogs at once
& teeth beg to be used
& tails remain confused
& I’m going to write, after that, about my occasional holy holy holy
& sudden headlights in the dark
& our children up all night, faces glowing like saints
& we can blame the sheep, but we are the sheep
& our recently imploded stadium
& she pins a playing card to the wall
& calls it time
& do we still not understand how all great falling happens through air
& the minor celebrity who feared being the one to wear it worse
& reports confirm the passengers were alive when they hit the mountain
& these kind sheepskin boots borrowed from a friend for the cold
& another voice still calling elote! elote!
& if we are not the mind but the thing watching it think
& when did you know you could whistle without sound
& if it’s always innocence that changes shape in the storm
& if I promise not to cross a river deeper than my horse’s chest
& what horse
& before or after the door opens
& when the boom box on the passing bike blasts Bach
& two people discuss how deep to dig
& the new trees outside Sonic seem happy
& the lady soldiers step in time, in time
& keep practicing
& the song you sing for money or the one you sing for a song
& the clock that plays a different birdcall each hour
& they traveled light, without shoulders or passports
& I’d do it for you
& the future you couldn’t quite imagine you were falling for
& a yesterday I find almost impossible to lift
& Rose of Sharon, Pride of Barbados, Queen of Spades
& maybe even some carnations from the boss
& always a woman laughing her head off
& the heart makes the hard sound a car makes when started again
& when it has been all this time running (Jenny Browne)