You Are Remembering the Tri-State Area

Twin boys on the train, one

sitting in front of the other, both

with their mouths wide examining the passing

lights of the tunnel. Brother behind as blurred moving image.

You are remembering the tri-state area with its lakes

long like their names.

Each minnow

with its small individual shadow.

Lake exactly as we left it, though

time has marred this place indefinitely.

It is strange

what we remember about a labyrinth.

You were an amalgamation of stones piled

against one another fighting for a space closer to the surface.

Knocking teeth out of the mouths of individual parts,

chipping hard sediment

the way this train chips away

at my soft particles,

the way it makes me remember what it’s like

to be pushed.

I’ve got so many tongues

wrapped around the mountains.

Tasting every stripe of solitude. Spitting

out the edges of blizzards and

the thresholds of cyclonic meter.

Your small fist is moving against what we know to be

cloud matter in an aluminum basin:

steady, heavy.

Keep beating. Keep

rhythm. Leave the music on.

Let everyone know

I’ll be back soon. Let them know

I remember where points meet

and where my feet grew. That now,

when I’m pushed, I fall harder, but

still examine a bruise the same way.