potency

here

yesterday was years ago,
yet it remains bitter between my teeth.
yesterday, in the thicket of my backyard,
the horizon (new tapes for our video),
old gum still stuck under sneakers,
a wrist watch that no longer ticked
but you still wore it in case the clock struck,
in numb hands and chattering lips,
endless roads and baggy hearts,
we were angry, we were lonely.
but we did it with windows down-
calling to the gods on the other side
and begging for a listen.

today, i've escaped the romance of
small town bodies with big city minds.
the seventeen-dream that wound in your every step
came to watch the lights, the sun between the trees,
and it's not your dream anymore- it's today.
it's the chasing of sunspots on the pavement
and gritting boots against it- clean.
it's the woods that don't splinter
and streets that write my name.
today, we call down the hills
and look at the city just below.
if i reached out my hand
the lights would fall into my palm.
and it can just be mine.

now, when we call to the gods,
they are right here, hidden in the green.
we don't need to travel far to feel them quaking.