in the key of g

~

nothing deliberately excluded
from a month of morning stars
spread thin along a shoreless heart,
like songs that stretch across extinguished souls,
or set adrift by his first name, by pencilled strokes
between some coffeed stains, drenched in honeyed light
near aging oak, just like an amber-coloured stone,
its clear-cold weight against my throat,
the way it shifts with every breath
like shafts of wheat within a moisture-laden breeze,
of all these things that stick to words like dawn,
while stalking fingered shadows into wordless worlds,
past blacksandwhites, past piano notes that float alone
along a lake between the surface of a scent
and every sun-split dream I ever owned,
whenever letters seep back into pores,
escaping into veins (where they belong)
to mark a petalled drift-and-float
towards extremities he never touched,
to rest in pools that only know his dawn,
his press of passing-time, his trill,
as if to retrace graphite lines-of-flight
by trailing skin across the hard-worn softness
of a wooden spoon, the only one that beats each day
into a yellow-scrambled bowl of maybes,
maybe for another time-and-place,
for unexpected tones that lift
like strings from gypsy violins,
their quivered-reach
to cloudless heights
through wind-swept blue,
and then their fall
in endless-airborne whorls,
perhaps with him,
if he could find
his way there
too

~