when i remembered

marker

i remember wielding permanent markers,
each of us by our own pile of stones that would be perfect for skipping
--though we would never know;
all the water we had was in your put up pool,
lord knows our grey little town
only knows rivers of concrete--
we had our way with the stones,
(of course only on one side of each)
they became ours, symbols of our presence,
little manifestations of our instantaneous imaginations,
and when we bored ourselves of art and branding,
i remember us hiding them, feeling guilty,
turning them all face down

i remember what could be that same day
--it's all the same day to me;
yesterday--
rain water running down steel strings,
down so delicately, deliberately,
into those same pools of stones
as if (y)our home itself were
lamenting the impermanence of our innocence,
and i remember the way those stones
boasted a darker hue
when the water kissed their backsides

i remember riding my bicycle today,
--today began when yesterday ended,
when your garage door shut,
and your mulberry tree cried out to me
those painful cries for love
that i could no longer answer--
falling onto some anonymous patch of grass
across your street,
and burdening the ground with my tears
and wants and sorrows it could not cleanse.

i remember my soul leaving my body tomorrow,
--tomorrow is only what could be,
almost never what will--
walking the high-wire that was your brick fence,
and reclaiming all of those stones.
i remember walking from room to room,
laying the stones down side by side,
finally face up,
covering his floor, yours, and all of the house,
the roof, the trees, the grass, the dirt,
the concrete, the wood, the brick, the sand.
--this is ours!--
i remember them lighting up the air,
shining on your complete glass menagerie,
on the melting stuffed dog on the lamp we forgot to find,
on the hole he punched into the wall,
on our city in the mulberry tree.
--this blood is ours!--