12-28-2008 Where’s that pencil going next?

Come near the splashing, near the stream. Come near
the waking of my dreams. And let your wrists
fall flashing cool, into the rushing fears
that you’ll remain unkissed or I’ll resist.

Such slender stirs improve on eyes that sense
a bloated branch arise and claim they know
my passage well enough to bridge and fence
my swelling undertow. Let currents flow

as others carve their ditches there in haste
to irrigate their arid minds. The drips
they catch will dry before a mouth can taste
their lies. Come near and dip your fingertips

between the wav’ring emptiness, and hold
the shiver gently while each moment folds.