1.17.15

Aransas

at port aransas you remarked what a good team we made.
our combined karmas enabled us to conjure birds, beasts
and open eateries. no phone, a broken map but we were
filled with our ineffable silence which rang brash even
before there was such a thing as beginning.

a coyote sat tall in orange grass eking its way from 
the black canyon humus. you noted my kestrel kept
up with our Four Runner, arriving on electric lines
moments before us every several. that afternoon we
saw roseate spoonbills in flight as well as a small
family of them, washing in the rivulets and dining.

whoopers at great distances danced in order to
strengthen their relationship. the vultures on the
viewing deck allowed us utter privacy with which 
to view the cranes people travel great distances,
and still not glimpse. wheres the fuckin crane?! 
you did your impression of an angry camper. 
you made us laugh until it positively hurt; we 
went exactly nowhere without seeing them.

at dagger island a serpentine monster uttered 
his red longing petrified neighbors took to 
be dream. you handed me a bone crucifix
to hold while you tended to your camera,
i palmed it in cooled prayer of thanks for what
was us in sage walkways, us again in
silent grove of silver trees bent motte of us
driving home whatever sticks is what stays.

thank goodness you walked ahead of me.
a wild boar screamed calamity, charging 
from the wood smelled so eucalypti, 
i begged, no, commanded you to put 
your face in it. he bolted to the wood opposite. 
i did not move. i didnt turn to watch his mad 
exodus. my smile held me in a steel tank you 
excavated like a bell from the muscle blade 
of our conjoined shoulders 

that night i could not move and you did not 
stop speaking excited magic 
spells out what could only be taken 
as good, and right.