Intrusion

How can we be grateful for the drift of white flapping on
upper lidded sight, part of the weekend shrinking river, when

arms, hands thicken tubular railing sunk in concrete walls
and river banked layers of time? Your flapping as if forever

distracts meager bumping flow to arching, thumped clouds,
permanent worlds from which occasionally to swing and from the right

to scrape watched brains on the sort of temporary earth perch,
whispering for anyone in the world, 'walk until you find that;

walk to the end of life.' Flap flap flap flap sounded sounds,
air layered vibrations topping vibrations, upheavals to

trickling Saturday afternoons, thankfully leaning Saturdays.
Lick us really, screeching. Find a duckless place. Float.

We'll watch, amazed, the downtown river and islands and grass and
cottonwoods and tennis courts and mansions on the far high bank --

flow as long, not return home, not to work. flap flap flap flap
Let us stand here for this forever like flowering trees.

Will you drift through without worries, our ignorant
unwillingness not a barrier to snaring penetration? Mark us?

Hit the heart, then back for spleen? String gut?
Weave the freeing trap; we will not ourselves with phone calls undo

closed doors, NO, stupid accusations, blindness deeper than stone.
Bang on us, bang bang flap flap flap. Steal us, less than air.
   
                        On further thought,
don't bloody yourself. Stay and hang. Invade nothing.
Nothing will see and be glad. We'd use you like tree trunks anyway
and still need whitegray flapping.

Instead, weighted less than nothing, let our wishes drop riverward.
Watch your brother the heavens' distant campfired trout strike them.

We have you anyway and took you home and six months later
put you in a poem. flap flap flap flap whitegrey winged body

Naked girls

you’ve odd fingers
from 14’s mom,
14 & 17, standard
village dears,
high school hair.
your pudgy touches
pass naked overnight,
brushing mom cocked in steerage
miraculous and confused.
“can’t tell dad.”

i walk
on your moments,
gravel youngsters,
fallen leaves,
when mom
explains a girl’s soft cut
exponential as science,
and you wrapped
cloudless with 17
to mom foraging
the morning’s cracked door.

lips of trees
and spellbound limbs,
climb yourself
and watch
17’s kissed regions.