(no subject)

[throneusd01]

We stepped out of the last plane
on a rocky strip at the bottom of a valley;
shadows of clouds I imagined
to be the ghosts of trees
whose seeds spread further each year
when the wind carried on
and light showered the plain.

His patience his narcotic, my devotion his ticket-
he fixing his good eye on the sun
as though it were the gates itself,
the mountains capped, looming
in that space beneath thumb and forefinger
when I held them up to pinch the sun;
I came that night with the pills, with the trash bag.