The tops of clouds look like the waves
that loiter in a clay teapot
above the flames of carbon tamed
beneath this broiling house of cards.
It takes as long as it will take
to open up my tin can gut,
to spill my promises in layers
of sounds we know to mean enough.
I’ll look at you with ocean eyes,
the kind you filled with river run,
an ageless fist of torrent flesh
a murky pool that keeps us close.
But with new lungs we will emerge
and climb into the history books
to leave a mark of death array,
another pair that wove a dream.
And then you can enjoy the life
you should have had with both of us,
I’ll watch a satellite decay,
a metal tear, a blooming sun.
It takes a note to stop a rest,
a pen to clear the blankest page,
a kiss to heal the tired man
and all those things — you give to me.
©️ Trapper Markelz 2023