She calls after you
in the quiet garden,
to have one more look at you,
knowing you’re less a presence
than an urge to be moving on.
Walking fast is a simulated act of contempt,
a leap away (and what a leap: last night’s clothes pressed
to the body—airborne!-- and a glad little bastard at that),
but in a quiet garden, under a too-bright sun,
contempt is just an overbearing lack of the right words.
asserts a shy
yet firm departure.
Despite yourself, the weather
offers its cue for a walk,
and leads you among mothers walking babies,
among parts of a small dusty town more than the sum of
its heat and its primroses, to a valedictory itch
in the loins, overslept: there’s an unexpected grace in moving on,
in those words to be.
They’re rarely ever used for any other reason than
to take up a role, to be somehow above all the insouciance
of manhood but acquire what? That leap?
You just fucked each other
and dried out in the light of day.
You must get into the car, ride, and wait for the moment
you forget what day it is. What you did not say.
from The Rightful Pivot
released February 7, 2015
Recorded and Mixed By Desmond Shea and Joe Goldring May/June 2014
at Coast Recorders S.F.
Mastered by Doug Henderson at micro-moose Berlin
all rights reserved