People seem to think they know
everything about poison oak,
about runaway horses and floating balloons;
what about nosebleeds
at recreation parks
or some dying animal on a Thursday afternoon?
You see, the day was long
and full of dragons
sweeping over the cobwebbed moon,
(I would have run that beagle over
if I could, lingering
in the dark barns, in the wet country)
and I want the time I held you
cloudlessly, your original
eyes, your hands.
I could continue in this aching horizon
or dismiss you as one
thumps on the sun with a hammer.