Sunday, November 14, 2010

St. Lawrence O'Toole (patron of Dublin)

we lie awake. we count

the glasses of water

that line the nightstand,

leave rings behind.

I was worried that

my lungs had fallen out.

I shook you. I opened

your mouth with my fingers.

you peered into my chest

with golden binoculars

and assured me that everything

was in tact. pulsing. breathing.

without you,

I have not a penny

under the sun

to leave anyone.

on the other side

of the window,

the neighbor boy runs

down the street, trailing

a jump rope behind him.

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