April is still cruel 
And this city? Still unreal.  
The snow will melt 
Daffodils will bloom 
Arrows will still fly 
Even Cupid shoots them 
With awkward aim 
 
Are we mistaken to listen to the wind? 
That whisperer that works 
Its way between warm clothing 
...Tickles, biting softly 
On the ends of our touch 
Imprinting its song on our necks.

                                                          “I would have never thought 
                                                          You would become my lover 
                                                          Having passed you 
                                                          In the hallway a thousand times 
                                                          Among the smell of floor wax 
                                                          Cafeteria food, and 
                                                          The slamming of locker doors. 
                                                           ...Excuse me 
                                                           I’m younger than that” 

Now, in the city of Yonder 
Stands our orphan 
With his gun 
Walking along the edges  
Of an eternity of assumptions 
The quickest way to freeze 
Us into madness...oh, do not 
Ask what is it? 
Even Dorothy killed two witches 
And I swear 
The sky has been etherized. 
 
For I have known it, known it all 
Have known evenings, mornings 
Afternoons 
Have known 
The familiarity of strangers 
My nose buried in their bosom 
Of warm, warm skin, bared to 
Gravity, orbit, & galaxies  
Moving...moving... 
Moving

                                                        “What a Sunday drive it was 
                                                        Unplanned, without directions. 
                                                       The heat of summer blew 
                                                        Into our rolled down windows” 

O you who turn the wheel  
and look to windward, 
Consider.