Two Poems

To

And suddenly, I think of the landscapes of walls
their sheer falling pitch through our lives,
their stand against weather, callers, nightfall,
their latitudes and simple angles
crossing the cambers we walk, and breathe to.

We live in their skin, but it’s a stand-off between us.
We rarely touch, although so close,
except sometimes to lean on their cool
dispassionate blanks, in despair, to pray to.

In cliffs of rooms we think we’re safe.
Their scalable heights seem homely, boring.
Papered, pictured, they’re what we dream
of dreaming through, yet live between, and
finally, one day, will turn to.


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