BETWEEN THE MEMORABLE
Russ is dancing
in the linen our lives lose
and his daughter dresses him up
by laughter or with distance
above the pink carnival.
"Hey Charlene, listen to this shit," he says.
the dog barks past the lawn and vacant lots
houses for miles but more fragrant
in circles, maybe a thousand years over my head
for memory of them.
dreams and games
partaking in perishable love
or bones on an old house
one strings up the well again
and the owners drink proud, a new month
of tangle older than their memory.
I am singing to you, filled
and gray and loose, I cradle
positions of flight while natural law
gives the better forgetting
its borrowed radio