Tonight the moths are beating the shit out of themselves against the
screen door
It looks like smoke
So does the light
inside his rings, his
wristwatch
The blood swimming around inside his face
in lightning blotches beneath his skin
like the residue of beets
on a cutting board
also
emitted light
A blizzard of wings
*
He thinks God
is going to clean
everything up
Hands made from Light and Feathers, moving us around, dusting us off
Everything
settling back into the warm
colors of autumn
instead of getting
ground down
into glass
which, I get the feeling
diamond after
diamond
is what’s really
going to happen
*
I could have
whatever I wanted
once a year
Whatever you want
it’s on me
Coconut cream pies rotated slowly behind bright windows like the
cities of heaven
The register sang
Flies collected
on our water glasses
My father, for a moment, was full of light
Men came and went
I knew
our waiter was the son
of someone
from The End of the WestFind it in the library
Copyright © 2009 Michael Dickman
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.