Making Out on a Hill Overlooking the Hudson

Above the boulevards of sweat
where the kids are gathering again

at the back of a public bus
to plan the resurrection of laughter

an old woman on a bench slides
both pink shoes off her feet
at the beginning of spring

so she can sit a while longer
and look at the same river as us

As if she needs a little extra heat
she rubs her hands together so vigorously
the jays all leap at once

I could stop the sun right now
I could be wicked as a fruit thief

I could touch your middle knuckle with my thumb
and pretend I don’t know all your names

but the cherry blossoms are just coming into view

From the heights old men secretly wish
to leap into their creamy bloom

Logic tells them Patience Friend Wait
another year It took a long time

for you and I to follow the river
back to where it kills

and Nature isn’t the only murderer
to go free but at least it’s got a million
tasks for the tongue

so when two mouths come together
they only mean to stand for emptiness

They redraw borders in the smallest districts
of the body like the passing of an electron

from hydrogen to hydrogen to form
another variation of water These days

everywhere I go
a word I can’t pronounce begins

to sing deep inside me It signifies
half an absence Your mouth signifies another

Between the two of us we are bearing
six languages into the future

We share the seventh which is silence

The century ahead of us will want to know
how the landscapes changed
in our brief lifetimes I want to be clear

We stripped
to our ankles once and danced

We catalogued each vibrant thing
beside a dying river at dusk

We became whatever we named
We were so sick from suffering
we pressed our lips
to everything
we could not bless