to relieve my hope
I sleep with open hands
waiting for rain
not the fleece
of the enumerated flock

remember?
our air was not
gasped
but savored.
even that truck’s lift gate
sounded like Miles’ muted trumpet

no excuse
just the softness of your breathing
between the down
the laughter that spilled
from dark green bottles uncorked.

language led to sign-language
sonar and clumsy semaphore
hell.
we came from Navy town
the least we could do is fight rust

in the end
we forgot how

how to, how much, how long

taking lady liberties
by strategic posture
misguided by crossed passions
that we served up
from paper cups

I wait for the rain
effortless and honest
whispering dryly
through thin wispy lips
stories of that which was lost

2/28/08

sentiment once
engaged four–or was that six
a practiced backhand
in this pandemic of social tennis

walk on the edges of my extremities
a mouth-breather in
the rubber rooms of your
shadow

self

timid note-taking turns

recently buying table scraps
ensures a bite to eat
a ride on the yellow rocketship
outside the grocery

public satisfactory seconds

waiting for the keys

the reflection of judgment
dismissed like yesterday’s Times

tenderness in
alligator armor

© Tom Watters  12/5/07

hastily parked cars
tequila from dusty shot glasses
hunt-and-peck a substitute
for what we both wish for

and yet I marvel
under the spell of your
dry smooth skin
and your curious smile

I speculate on our ability
to bullshit ourselves.
you saw him treat you less
as if need was of no consequence

and I saw you sleep.
lips freed from purgatory
randomly unleashed from wishes
I wondered “what if?”

I’ve grown to apologize
for compliments rendered
they don’t believe anymore
still I was compelled

a trail of breadcrumbs
find my way on my own
from this island vacation
in our city of novacaine

© Tom Watters  11/17/07

in deep violet hours
pondering into my heavy hands
I spell the word intent
watch it dance across my life line
cross the t over my heart
indicated and indicted

some time ago I drew these reins
a part time horse thief
but the spook in your eyes
forced an evaluation;
a question of nobility
an answer unfolding

strange calmness
pitched entrapments to the wind
laid me bare and called me out
stopped the painting of
a thousand self-portraits
camera obscura bent to plead

thunderclouds clapped
spoke to me four words
ancient to my future
spoke them with you
thousands of times, near and far
flowering and seeding at once

my hands ponder that word
hold my worth
the simple cloth of change
rivers that lead me home
barbs that can no longer scar
and the surprise

of a most unexpected treasure

© Tom Watters  11/14/07