why must you lend your eyes
to mockingbirds?

these conversant strangers
that wish to rinse my grief
of the acheless grays it so desires

with the colors of dusk infused oceans

of the moment
when the sun first dips her feet in
and her toes
like a lit fuse
suddenly shake
her bitten lips into a smile

into a riotously loud speechlessness

in which love is briefly ceaseless
and lived in again

like the thrift store vases
that swift fingers had lifted off forgotten windowsills
from whose cracked necks
had once swelled
our most intimate springs

had once blossomed
self taught lovers in suits of armor
aching to be softened with a single touch

why does life
in its mere continuance
seek to plagiarize you

stealing from strangers
the cuttings that still could have grown a dream
but never again you

because you were the only diviner
who could point to a spot
where my tears had grown bones of their own

and say

that

that is where I could love you next.