Dancin' Moon Songcast Ep. 67 Late August, Kirk Coming Down & Summer of Whistles | POETRY SERIES EPISODE!

 

late august seminar in andrews hall

 

the fields

along I-80 are dark as

three years back

when you moved

behind every stalk

in the side-spill

of my headlights--

 

silent trips

only three weeks

four weeks

five

after your death marked for me

a new accounting of days

 

three years and I am here

and something like your arm

has wrapped itself around me

your hands

steer me through campus

the way you slid your bike

in and out of traffic

wind in your long hair

force of all that was behind you

guiding, pushing

 

counting keeps me

looking back

you, there behind me

not changing--

shrinking with distance

the spot on that narrow road

where I listened for you

in the grass

the gravel of that shoulder

the crescent of black rubber

mapping your short encounter

with something too heavy to resist

 

you're coming up again

from behind me

the windows are black

late summer is rolling over

into night

the pavement cooling outside

the fever rippling

toward the sky

 

the dashboard lights

are pale green and orange

 

how fast I'm not going

how little time has elapsed

how far I haven't been

my headlights hardly touch

the edge of night as I

tug each marker up

from murky water

counting off the next mile

this side of you

 

 

Kirk, Coming Down

 

Here on highway 6, between my feet, they've marked with orange spray-paint, the spot where you landed. Down there, by the tall grass is where they say you were hit. The paper said the man driving just fell asleep for a moment, and your bike was clearly over on the shoulder. Now, it's just a matter of the settlement, no one's pressing charges. They've marked your departure point and where you came to rest, but in between: twenty-five feet of nothing but air and time.

 

One track meet in

Middleschool

I came out during the rain to

watch you jump.

It was cold

you stripped off

your sweats

down to nothing but

your tank-top and shorts.

 

Your shoes looked too heavy

swinging on the ends

of your long skinny legs

and you bounced them

on the runway

shifting your weight back

and forth.

 

You paced off your approach

for the last jump

marked a takeoff point

by placing a wet twig

at the end

of the crescent you measured.

 

I stood as the rain became deafening

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