so far borrowed

There have been many things
  that started out but did not end up
nights praying for what was wrong
  and years preparing for a past
some babies were waited for but
  never greeted with pink or blue
waves that swelled up and exhaled
  before breaking
creatures that died in my care poems
  I left off pursuing
hobbies leftovers bicycles porches
  books on shelves books in the mind
convictions marriages religions
  medicines advice healthy or sour
wages not even saved but spent
  on rent instead of going
promises resolutions revolutions
  parts of songs and songs
the explications of meanings carved out
  of the granite of old thinking
the sweetness of a connection wanted
  more than a final breath
all these things I call things because I
  lost them before I named them
they saluted and then threw their bodies
  into the line of fire on the front
where should did horrible battle
  blade in gut with deserving
others who should've too been thanked
  but ended up not on top.

There was this blessed boy
  blessed with burdens and heaviness
and blessed with the light of
  apricots and secret codes
this boy and his mother would make up
  nonsense like skies
this boy and his father would spar
  like death could be figured out
spring too wet to play on so
  he poked holes and jumped buttons
crops summer green or fallish
  acres turned over ready again
the growl of pencils and compasses
  center down spirals til dark
used to close his eyes and see
  what was under the tree long before
those boxed up little future gasps
  were even asked for
he shot and blocked and cheated
  wrote new rules like they did
his little girls years later and all
  the other ones with wily eyes
with eyes that loved up storms
  around corners over ages
the boy insisted this is my song
  I want to spell it wrong
because that way is the way
  all nature told him to
all the nature in the ten fingers
  in the supernatural made
made up made over made more
  made pacifist and killer.

There was a lesson learned
  make space for what's missing
that's because what is missing it
  will fall apart without it
so the gaps in god and man and game
  were kept track of religiously
ochre needs the rouge and Hebrew
  can't spit it out without wishing
for those hot mornings in the delta
  noisy with critters and calls
gone like seeds gone like semen
  gone in layers like pots
gone and waiting the phone will ring
  the digger needs waking up
the dog will bark when the cat is run
  between the back and front yard
the belly will growl and toast pop up
  the kiss will rise from Eden
the dawn will cut through afternoon
  and bring back silent sanity
all kinds of loud and boyish yelps
  are required to bring about
the breaking down of fool to rule
  to humble the overly pious
worshipper of shiny the bower to badges
  eraser to sacred scratchings
because what is missing is buried
  in an impulsive glottis
blessed with stratified ponderings
  hearing rivers lap that did
when mom-and-dad-ness
  was waiting to be opened.

There were pots and pans
  receiving and sending out smells
drinking eating making messes
  clean as fruit falling
significant as that fine edge
  cooked up and celebratory
between the beginning and the descent
  of the plot into its origin
of the gardener into the rose beds
  of the weeds into the pile
of the branches into the fence
  that made me and makes you
sit stay then dive in right
  at the instant the sun
hits the trees and no longer
  has any power to cook up
evil or even any funny stories
  cut off it makes no one laugh
here is the border of the city laid out
  in debts and definitions
here the lines on my palms object
  to the package put in em
they promised in their breaking
  short and long and got some
distance some acquired length
  and they want to reach out
they those little indentations in skin
  want a present to open
to open up and find a cookbook
  one like was never read
never written never sniffed at
  by the boy at second base.

There was along the way a leaning
  a slant a slide a bend
a bent or two stopped and stimulated
  undesigned propped up
avoidable or not is a question
  askable by the spiritual
nuts wanting to share power
  with the deities fickle as they are
of inundation and harvest
  the clouds come out or don't
maybe they will weep today tomorrow
  the fields have been prepared
all the paragraphs and compositions
  took time to take time
like an almanac lightly as a dragonfly
  touching on every subject
what is in your neighborhood
  will be waved at at breakfast 
the next to will be bumped into
  if not digested sooner
rather than when able attention
  pushes itself away from the table
and looks around at all the stacks
  and takes time one at a time
to scrape and wash and rinse
  and handle and examine
and heed and arrange in likes
  and differences deeper than
in rainbow and resonant
  choir-some lexicons beating
like the heart of a hive
  trails leading as out as in.

There was and still is and still
  there sits with all solemnity
a table and chair and flagpole
  statements stamped and unheard
my head on a brick for a pillow
  I ponder all the prey there is to catch
pouncing over whole seas
  muscled into contentment
with pelts on my belt and skills
  any warrior would be jealous of
and so so here
  I go me and the boy and the stellar
stairs and lunar fenestras and both
  the dungeons and imaginations
picked up and practiced along the way
  with a word and some correct
fit it cuts through it all falls away
  a battlefield from morning to Mars.
When my hooves get going like that
  galloping all over the uncharted
the writer inside says frowningly
  what did you just say
and the singer answers with a grin
  from C to some other waystation
somewhere sensed but not been
  contracted led up to
but not quite given its due
  hard articulation
and like and appropriately borrowed I
  use what I heard once.

There will be spiders in niches
  and flying things gravitating there
a cat in the grassy dirt a goose
  in the willows waiting
for signals no hunters know no
  shapes any amphibians were primed for
leaping at the windblown lingo
  my species has been practicing
and my family perfecting thunderously
  for as long as coal burns
there will be and here it is said
  there will shall still be
A sweet deciduous too generous
  to keep from shading all
A tall tower for powerlines
  pumping playful blood
A room a hall with a stage a dais
  where grand directions will be decided
A horse responding to sirens
  rescuing and being rescued
A vine a mile of vines a field
  and every year a new wisdom
A ship slower than you want but
  promising the world
A gong-like waterfall who will
  fall rising and not look back
here and in every ray and shadow
  now and fortuitously
eyes wake and open and flowing
  in is work to be done.