Winter’s Knees

Weep winter’s knees

Slice summer’s eyes

Make of the seasons

Saturn’s corpse

(the mythology guy,

not the planet),

stop the orbits

in their habits

and freeze time for me,

sometime between spring,

monsoon

and polar freeze–

last night in a dream

you told me I must leave,

pick up my happiness and plant it elsewhere

and I cried

like the most basic of us

when told we cannot have something we want.

If I must go,

please tell me where my plant can grow,

because you were my indirect sunlight,

the soil and water of my sanity,

and I carried yours

in the best way I could–

maybe that makes us co-dependent,

two plants reaching for each other instead of the rain;

but freeze time for me, the instant the lightning falls,

so a line splits the sky like a crooked basilisk eyelid cracking,

and tell me under that all seeing sight

that you mean it:

if we exist only in this moment,

would you still tell me to go?

—

Of course it was only a dream,

for you, at least,

and Saturn’s still spinning

so I reach for the rains and lizard eyes

in your place,

weeping winter’s knees.