On the Veranda

a new poem

On the Veranda 

It was almost like a painting in the sun. 
We had stepped out of nothing and into life. 
If the men weren’t handsome, 
I don’t remember. If a person turns 
into poison, I would rather forget. 
How do I walk back to summer 
and always leave myself somewhere else. 
I go dark like the sea. 
The green highways of the mind.
You will want to touch them. 
You will want to start over with time 
(but you can’t). Yeah, yeah. 
Even memory changes from a fist 
to a chocolate in bed. Does it matter? 
The black Cucinellis left on the veranda
where we ash away the days. 
See you in eight years. 

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