Landscapes
Some of us preferred
the nights when trees
were on fire to the ones
where only flowers were burning
The smoke was a challenge
for breathing but after a while
we learned to live with it
Those of us who preferred
our landscapes with living things
over desolation rainbows were
disappointed when there was
nothing left to burn
Even the sunsets regretted
the absence of particulates
that made the sky seem alive
It seemed unnatural
to grieve the end of landscapes
as no one responded to them
anymore
What would have been
the point
The moon is down
phantom tree limbs scratch
against the windows
and the overhanging roof
in my mind.
The appliances cycle on
and off, so loud and insistent
they threaten to murder sleep.
Outside, the birds have
been assaulting the picture
windows. Their collisions
are like tiny fists pelting
the glass.
We gather their bodies
in canvas bags. Take them
to the beach and throw them
to the wind commanding
them to fly.
We share everything now
even our dreams
The details may be different
but the effect is always
the same
Her dreams are of flightless
birds that are somehow impelled
from their coops into the air
where they collide in pairs
and fall, on fire, to the earth
Mine are of the beheading
of chickens on multiple
chopping blacks propelling
their headless bodies spouting
gouts of blood as they run
about the barnyard
We watch from inside our bedrooms
where the heat pipes are bursting
in the walls releasing gushers of water
that peel the patterned paper off
in long strips that cling to our faces
as we dream
Neither of us has the will
to wake up
All of our nights are like
this now
An accumulation of
frozen sheep redefine
the landscape
Piles of ice, and snow
and road waste are assembled
like burial mounds planted
on the fallow furrowed fields
Dried wild berry vines
and sunflower stalks smolder
in the rusted metal burn
barrel
We look up at the sky
at what the sheep
can no longer see
After the storm:
the used tires arrive
then the ripped-free anchors
lobster traps
rope netting balled in Gordian knots
snared, severed filaments
deflated life rafts
broken oars
parts of wet suits
life jackets
men and women’s clothes
all the odd lot of stuff that
once might have been in-board
no boat
Some of us remember
when the seasons did not
fluctuate from one extreme
to the other
There were variations
on themes: colors, warmth,
and chills instead of deep
freeze and fire
Soon there will be nothing
left to burn as it is pointless
to plant things when nothing
has a chance to grow
Maybe the end has
come and gone
and no one noticed