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Waking Up in Chicago after Dream Song 29

—for Jordan

just short of a month ago I burned a first edition

on the hearth

and scooped the blistered ash don’t ask

into an airtight container I keep it next to the sugar

sun up I stir a teaspoon of this shade and heavy cream

into coffee and there’s breath clean

as knife-wind in the brain blown down

the full length of the lake whipped into white waves

they break on broken concrete slabs ice ripples

its hook-fingered rebar

spine reinforced pearls condense

in the tight and curled-down sky parts of me

in the hair of his forearm the lake’s black & pitched on us

in sheets that catch the flame of the city

in the air as for air there’s just enough

for now the doors of the car frozen shut and it’s him it’s not him it’s

the taste of his voice in my mouth it’s not my mouth

we talk every day which is never today

til there’s nothing to say til no ache polices his veins

til nothing ever ached like my mouth which is not my mouth

for his as for now as if it was now and so ever would

the battery’s been dead quiet storm gone

and we’re tangled around each other for warmth

the past’s nothing if not the irregular pulse of his lap

in my ear and that cop saunters and wags

and pisses on the car and thank christ leaves us to freeze

before we can’t breathe or just breathe

before we can’t freeze either way it was all there and now it’s not

go ahead : take the dice and let them kick up on the curb

you can walk away before they’re still

if you want but don’t tell me there’s no number

on the ground don’t say the last breath can’t be the last

and after that it’s not breath just don’t ok

til you’ve kicked the rear window out & let night be this night

and splash to life all on your face which is this face

that sounds that sound that sounds like that sound

like my hands that ache beneath this ice as for friends and this ice

and love and Berryman : two out of three (so pick three)

will tell you what to do with rebar and wind in your mouth

and buildings that fall like needles thru your eyes : get

the frozen flame in your belly and hipbones

cross to the wrong side of the rail gone raw and wave goodbye

to what sounds that sound

and yes every weekend Ric’s grandmamma Ms. Lou

handed us her keys to Chicago and told us : remember baby,

every good-bye ain’t gone so you look it’s not like I haven’t

I’ve shut my eye and dreamed thru

keyholes and I’ll be damned if she ain’t gone on and gone missing

too