Tweedle Dum

by John Grey

He seemed safe at this late date
so what if the sky was alight with meteor fire

I know
what this says
about me

after a proper greasy breakfast together
bill on the table
hands in my pockets
looking for something more to lose  

having left the moon behind     broken bread (toast at least)
crossed a vacant field       to inspire each other’s presence
then onto the cornstalk universe 

he was proud
of the face
he’d prepared
for his funeral

separated        sound of a gunshot       dagger of pain
in the right temple
bleeding and heaving in tree-top half-light

a gentle broken egg
gnashing its teeth no longer
having lost interest in his body
innately visible in the summer’s deep green

 he appeared to be like drifting milkweed
sashaying white oak leaves
a horizon without hills but what did I know

if the light on the barn roof couldn’t save him
and the way he carried his heart didn’t make it obvious

(again at a place where I know I can’t deliver)

really
amazingly
I write so softly
I can’t hear what I’m reading back