Truck

William Allegrezza

in water

my story is in bones

fortune cracking or

boats slowly turning above rooflines.

           

when i can,

i watch as rain fills

the ditches with memory.

i could settle with eyes, with

hair out under skies,

with the strings pointing

numbers i cannot sing,

            but i am here with

            toes dangling as driftwood, as

            symbol, trying to build grottos

with story.

daylilies          

i trained early

to be a traveler among the

starts and ends, a

wire walker, so now my voice my

surrounds the circuitry,

and the waves come

into space like dawn.

)it is desirable to

            unbecome myself often(

i trained early

not to move,

so sometimes i imagine your

voice bright orange

and immediately forget.

what other words

with no place or rock for stone,

i have wandered in search of leaves of no

brilliance fallen on bare ground.

The Autumns

the autumns never spoke to

me as to others.

and now

i dream the uncurved

back as my own,

and this sense of flippancy

that i claim rides through

what one says to speak

as fear.

in our section is

every section, a line

pointing into the cosmos

expanding, not stopping

as we do with hope.

what we have said we must.

them

the sidewalks

a

marker             moving                        as display

            for the

                        morning air

in

threes

                        textured words

            as piles that

            i forget to name.