named for towers
Friday, August 22nd, 2008she returns to the swan harbour with shadowed hands to seize nothing
below the music lights drip a vow tightens reason
on flat land she dries yesterday as magnets pull the saddle to point at that image
of man made metal the shore is as distant as the oil
on its surface a rider forces his wet hand into a boat lying low with the tide as if to say
we cannot rest if sleep wakes the faint outlines of our shadows
shallowly standing flick switches on the shore
the refrain is heading for a quiet moment to confirm that he listens
nearly night and lost candles encode his eyes shadows or shadows push
and here he is staring out into the sky which is pressed against by sacrifice and idols
hidden deserts shrug at the windows in your eyes and repetition comes each night
between the slight changes that are made to brush against stone
the memories of this narrative begin sea within sight
shifts with her breathing towers and roofs counted for the depth of their taste
such as vinegar spoiling our moment stand and look at the night
I will definitely see fish fall beyond the three bridges crossing into the headlights
and the barge takes to the river hold straight horizon
faint faces order your hands into the new heights and a collection goes around
beneath the flickering do we pass an elephant or hold on and let it pass
high speed and shadow lock up the shutters as I woke and turned if only to reflect
on being against all rules of science the taste of the wine we left
needs black lines or cotton flowers to fall and laughter says that they were the lights
going out to stop them seeing the wall has a cat on it
speak so he turns towards rare nights and shadow our fear of darkness
I could fracture through decision and research wrapped like the fish
we dare not waste the only sound made lights another place and hovers there
singing at strangers we listen
without those women telling our every pause to lift out the catch
relent with the concrete to admit waiting for the sun
I am pulled back to confirm their science now that morning burns away our night
it is clear that the snow was on
the hills only for a day to push against its own outline
cats will want to tap at concrete
making no music and looking
past him to where one horizon stands
Michael Egan