HARD TO THINK

I am tired
more than explains
these skinned shards

of water which accumulate round
the holes of these
windows which are cold and

are near to resembling the movies
the books and sounds
while birds call from screens
entering throat

tipping boxes over as rivers
of the mouth spill,
a person from a mountain
saddles airplanes

and guages the landscape between us
for a ride, we
can laugh while sun slips
aside returns

to her home and boils water for
tea, thinking of
me of us of sleep of
what a car drive

can bring after a long day after
a rain shower
and some icecream, but it’s
hard to think when

tires formed
the brain-asphalt—who’s here
but a whisper

I am tired
more than explains
the time it took to be together

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