It’s always about a Girl
in fighting dragons—
terrible, wonderful creatures of
maple leaves and pine needles
with just my broom-handle sword and trash can shield.
or swinging between vines
above the waiting jagged mouths of
crocodile logs and stone tigers;
trying, just trying, to reach Her in time.
swinging up high, so high into the air
leaving the grounded swing-set-mission-control
for outer space, beyond our dreams
only to return to hear Her voice
she is always the same, yet always a new face
each Helen sends me farther from my life
and all I do becomes my quest to win Her
yet there is no Trojan horse to batter down these walls
my sails unfurled, I seek my own particular harbor:
I search ahead, I gaze at the past, but I glance to my side
at the emptiness, the perfect copilot lost to never
leaving me a ghost, aimlessly drifting across our seas.
pale forms rise from the graves beneath my feet
while the dead fog creeps through the midnight soil
I step into the earth for a long year’s nap
drawn on once more by Her siren’s call
It’s always about a Girl