Let Nothing Stand
between the elm and the boy
under its branches, between
cars grumbling at a light,
their drivers mute behind glass,
hands at two o'clock and ten,
let nothing stand between the wand
of the conductor and the breath
of the flutist, between the wind
and sweating brow of the house
painter halfway up a ladder
against a gutter of last year's leaves,
let nothing stand between holiness
and laziness, between head and groin
from which we spilled into a world
of tables and tight corners and hard
choices, let nothing stand between
the river and cliff and blue
jay that sews them together whose
eggs fill the crotch of the swaying tree
above these lines, as day rolls up
and stars spread out, let nothing stand
between us that doesn't dissolve
with a closing of eyes and opening
of arms, and after arms are gone,
let nothing at all stand that
was once between everything,
whatever it was, the fence of years,
the fence of dollars, miles, fears
of ending the dance, between
the heart that grieves and the one
that surges here behind the elm
within your hands, be still
and follow, dear
Fitting In
soon I will fit
You used to fit in the sink,
under the desk, and in the fireplace --
where no one saw. Your broad face
fit in every frame on the wall. Blink!
in the palm of your hand
Now you fit nowhere at all,
not in shoes, tutus, boardrooms,
or brunches for ten. The rooms
of the world are small, you think.
turning me over and over
How true, how true. Outgrow a drink
like Alice did, a maze of arms and legs
sticking out windows, head in space.
This is what happens on big birthdays.
light as I am
(From The Afterlives of Trees, poems by Wyatt Townley)
