“Roaming Light”
There is roaming light across the floor
to say goodbye when our gold buckles
to be bucked from horses in soft dirty
boot buckles, because of the treasures
we found in the attic: the primal scene
enacting the tailbone;
tadpoles preserved, side by side,
for centuries in a glass tube
these were the human-shaped shadows
you used to run away with
the bell in your teeth, even during floods
matchboxes must sail away,
tugging at tigers as you tumbled
pulling patches for poor people,
the poor, poor people, witness to youth
and tomcats bribe another bride
shaking, because whiskers glow
these movements
automatic as gestures
beside the hot reek of horse piss
we were always your only girlfriend.
nicholauspatnaude 