The following poem comes from Read Write Poem’s prompt #82 – an ode to homunculus, or “little man”. I blame myself for this prompt. As it stands, the poem is definitely a work in progress – and to think the original draft had to do with a man losing his toe in a lawn mowing incident.

LITTLE MAN OF HEART

What if this song never ends? If we stay long past
the DJ breaking his tables, the rest of the dancers
gone home, the lights turned out, the sky’s lights
done the same? Even the moon – full tonight –
clouded away so everything we know goes black?

I have my eyes closed in this moment. I don’t know
if these what ifs are true. The music still goes.
There are clod steps on the parquet floor.
A breeze through a window says there’s light left,
as if daytime breezes differ from those of night.

Between us, where no space slips through skin to skin,
there are at least three heartbeats – yours, mine,
and some other. I can’t say what it is. A thing borne
from our centers, borne of music and light that will
walk us home when we wake.

-

A stop-off on the ride home today with a view of Mt. Hood to the left, Portland to the right, the Willamette River in between. I wrote in in a small notebook under the initial title, “View of Hood”.

SOURCE

I drink the river,
secret source of water.

Drink the bridge,
secret source of the city.

Drink the heron,
secret source of ink.

Until I drink the mountain,
secret source of sky.

–