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she walks in a gorgeous memory
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little bird and drags me through the streets of buffalo
through the suburbs of plastic and recess
her hand in mine holding through gloves
she pull the memories of walking
though hardware stores that seem
to only contain the desire i have for her
and stepping through the flicker
of a suburban fireplace
that has a sleeping bag before it
and one embrace
she is beyond what i could be and
beside me in this recollection of moments
that glide through my fingertips
she is the stubbornness that does not
own a blockbuster card, yet
the permissive imp who is glad i do
and all movies have a different feel
if her thigh warmed mine in the view
she wades through mid-life glamour
where black sweaters slip easily over
her shoulders
she rambles my thoughts to moments
before a stroke the reality of heat stroke
in a tent on a hot summer afternoon
she is a tired smile that
in a collage of memories
looks back to me
in raw beauty
This poem is so exquisitely beautiful, and, in the same reading experience, devastatingly intense. I have not read a poem quite like this in several decades. To say it is brilliant would be an understatement of vast proportion; but, frankly, I cannot find sufficient English words to describe it adequately.
Starward