James Duncan

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Heart-shaped rocks

 
heart-shaped rocks doused with wine
bloodied little stones tossed through
the windows one by one by one
            at the end of the day
            and the end of the day
comes softly
delicate as a cat’s sleep
without any cause
without thought
no rhyme or age
like the breath of sleep
coming across the lake
a rocking chair
in the breeze
no legs
no hands
no furrowed brow
no end
no beginning
nothing at all but
        the wind, it calls through the rain
begging the cats to open the windows
pulling at the shrubs, twisting the knob
of the front door, the back, the side
any which way to be close to you
to sift the hair and slide along the tall
shoulders buried now, deep in blue sheets
            deep in blue skies
            and even though skies change
            the moon will wait
for us to call out, to walk the many miles
to a street corner, unbeknownst to anyone
but the pair of echoes getting closer, closer
and then we’ll have the proper chapter;
        be it the last or the first—it will be ours