More than anything in the world I want to sing to you. More than anything in the world I want to sing to you. Untitled 1999
[Image Description: Color photograph of the surface of water, rippling. Two leafs float on the surface, in the foreground.]
More than anything in the world I want to sing to you. Traveling with the fear of water is the fear of falling. My suitcase is a full carry on. The flight I’m waiting for? First name. My father’s last was Sailors. His red Irish hair waves goodbye. The fact I’ll know him. Push off shore. Gather than hold movement by circling. Float. Swim. No. Could you be your own Lazarus? A scrolling parchment forever meeting itself? Every form, your most immediate effort? The nomadic shape of your breast? The flight I’ll board is late I’m afraid. I sit in a chair welded to others. We shift our weight. We share the news in silence. More than anything in the world I want to sing to you. Hold the curve surely with difficult breathing. I’m suffering a very person. Adorned with perhaps a pair of seashell earrings, perhaps pierced ones. I re-think my itinerary. I press my face on one side of a thin slice of glass and all the air in the sky on the other, Float! Swim! No. Museum of countless palpitations, swelling fruit forming a nest, pressing a mosque, An upside down cup begging Christ, A breast between limits. My breath sweats while I sleep through yet another dream. Your car keys forgotten on the dresser. Inside a carryon, bloodred Irish hair, heaving clouds. This name that speaks like a brass belt buckle, This name that knifes a fish clean. This name, his name, that swims the distance in me. More than anything in the world I want to sing to you. 2005
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