The idyll
The idyll attained to me
What could now be this company—
I listen as wind outside delivers
Something deprived,
Contrary to the past—
When the afternoon merges
Setting out on the deck
A white rain of sun ticks over unoccupied hours
Grafted as a splinter from our garden.
The idyll I mean sews inside
Something I’ve left—
Living on in company as a surface
When it arrived and surrounded
To observe what I’d mistake.
Only later,
I saw a transparency rise as an idyll
Captured in the past— I thought of the small box
Of glass you gave me
With the green mirror,
The window triggered in pixels
With every crash
And your voice washing out of time
Taped to the opposing door
Simplified majority
Patterns still fall—
I have not yet forgotten
Arrhythmic portions counter-stocked on the hour
That stood still and assayed an entry,
The white house and its frequented plasters
The elderly gardens—
Regulated sleep in the open dew
Their limbs waiting for their tears to gather
A green hand mixed with cobalt,
Sun stented in the evening
The weathered halves broken on windows
Near to the city
Waiting for a pace with the time to kill.
I imagine the serrated area eloped,
An elaborate Venus shaved blue
A canon book filled with false notes
Embroidered on the mantle where a fire set—
I pass the shallow vapor on the pavement
A still life broadening into night
Eight days after
They married in a sequence.
Tomorrow moves me
Looking down with the crowd rerunning a commercial
United by arrival in silent meals,
The sky draws through one room appeased with tallow
Surging in even curtains and curious paint
A common node breaks agreement in the walled court.
In legal standing
Morning draws a late relationWhile grafted shadow rolls loose.
I can see the key hitting October.
Tin flashes in a vaulted pasture
Beneath a court of trees.
A house detached from memory,
Coins washed out of novels
Vulgar borders where I grew
Unable to slake the mechanism.
The road is still made of wood
I would pass over by the asters
Now locked away in a drawer.
You asked if sisters once lived there
But hid inside your voice
Absent by neglect of spelling
Where Paris left.
Those moments would only seethe
Passing through simultaneous chambers
By the break-shot called in hide-and-seek
Advanced by comparison on lots
Drawn from an evening blue.
Eating out of the sea
Where several people travel
Complete by instruction of industry,
The records asked me my deposition of orders
Considered to recognize
Injured with respect to the claim.
Michael Slosek lives in Milwaukee, WI where he edits the arrow as aarow chapbook series with Luke Daly and publishes his own writing under the imprint TH.CE. He records music under the name KNIFECAM.