Friday, December 30, 2011

Atlanta on a Thursday

I don't recognize the language.
it falls from his tongue like
gumballs or pebbles. The words
are round and smooth and
collect at his feet.

He is unusually tall, and his
ankle high boots undermine
his American jeans.

He is Starbucks and twelve
countries that I've never been to.

We're both heading to Cincinnati.
My transfer has been cancelled.
His, I'm sure, is right on time.

Midnight in Dusseldorf

There are rabbits in downtown Dusseldorf,
small coveys that pour out
onto well-manicured parks after the
gates have been locked.

Walking alone last night, I stopped
to watch a pair run circles around
a bench near the Rhine.

It is a curious infestation but
one that could be expected in this
gingerbread country where clocks
are the broken hands of giants,
where cobblestones are skulls of the dead.

Kayaking in Portugal

Kayaking along the Rio Montenegro
I saw purple flowers that
climbed walls like ants

and small beaches that
speckled the river's banks
like upturned fish.

The mountains on either
side wore a heavy coat of
green, and small cities

glittered on the mountains'
shoulders like sunlit broaches.

The sun was hot and scraped
its teeth against our skin.

The water was cold and
swept by quickly like a
midsummer Portuguese night.