What’s left of the wine pools,
cranberry halo, incriminating, and
it echoes, Lisa’s laughter, because
we’ve been here before, we shout
‘every true friend is a deja vu we’ve
chosen,’ and I clear the calendar
to find you in every far-flung
town, bask in the balm of our
time travel revelry, ’til today’s
aches hush and listen to the
war stories we already won.
West Virginia, take me under
the sobbing of your skies, I want
to shout-sing the chorus with my
friends, hug and grin and laugh,
invent beach ball games and lose
them anyway, want to catch the
mischief in memories, we sigh
and wish we could’ve known,
all those young years ago, we’d
be here and doing just damn fine,
after all, every last mile.
Truth is that Ross never learned
how to leave the party, great wild
believer in this life and its rich,
vivid edges, so we belt all God’s
best melodies in the car, just to
stave off the creep of melancholy
violets and grays, Nicole Kidman
in porcelain profile, we should
be lovers, let the laundry
sit tonight, begs the ritual, let
tomorrow steal not a single
second from today, miracle
transient, magic harnessed and
held.
michael king 