there were miles of road there were birds tiny hops and twitching

and sunlight faces picking for seeds in the picked over thistle

mysterious and collaged and hard to grasp or hold and cosmic things and alarm clocks hanging from

frayed strings

I saw metaphors I bestowed them with true

ontological status and pondered

I built strawmen of golden hay

idolatry in the forest this is all so spiritual but that is likely

on the news stand in the solipsist that a biochemical thing in my head which

scorns all idols is great because that makes it completely and

unquestionablyreal

and I saw You look at me as if

I were looking at You and thinking

exactly what You were thinking

who was it started the fire that is amazing like two trees beside each other.

it wasn’t Us They sang one that is You and one that is Me how so perfect

it surely wasn’t Us the deep red berries in winter which was You and its evergreen

pine companion

which I was which was that You

were thinking what I was thinking though

with the shift in pronouns I don’t know if it translates to same

hope was never this warm but here We are like squirrels in a musty treetop

doesn’t fire require a specific nest again, and winter time is pleasant when You are prepared

combination of three things wood oxygen and We have the two of Us like space heaters this is hard to express

though I feel it

then maybe it is those moments

that We do not grapple or pull

but push with all of Our souls but never away

where does the heat come from and time is stopped and I am conscious of you through me

if there wasn’t already a poem at that point would be one of many things that cease to matter

fire and if I closed my eyes I would see nothing but feel I would feel the two of Us

burn not as two but one