"The Way You Move," a Weird Catastrophe Poem

                                                              The Way You Move

                    this is the only kind of faith
                    that I have,
                    I say, without evidence,
                    that what we do in this life –
                    who we are to each other –
                    goes beyond ourselves, beyond
                    time bounds,
                    beyond our painful material,
                    it reaches, 
                    it moves,
                    it carries a banner,
                    where it will go
                    and how long it will travel
                    and even, obnoxiously, what that
                    banner declares 
                    is beyond our control,
                    but go it does

                    we radiate,
                    we live in other minds,
                    we are carried to places unthought,
 
                    and out there deep
                    in the vastness of our universe,
                    travelling at terminal speed through
                    the blackened firmament,
                    piercing,
                    is the image of you
                    getting a new tattoo,
                    tears running down your cheeks and 
                    wiping them on your pillow,
                    is the image of you 
                    holding new life in your hands,
                    is the image of you
                    lingering beside a lonely road
                    and not saying anything
                    but wanting to remember this,
                    not wanting to forget this view 
                    and, and the feeling, again,
                    the thing you can’t name inside you,
                    the image of you opening your
                    eyes unto the world, the blue,
                    the I couldn’t believe I couldn’t tell they were blue,
                    the image of you in a chair by a creek,
                    the image of you burying your lips in my cheek,

                    these and other things,

                    I cannot show you the marks,
                    the indents on my brain,
                    the letters scribed within my chest,

                    I have no evidence
                    you see,
                    none of us do,
                    all I can tell you
                    is that these things are there,
                    the good and the bad,
                    everything really,
                    going and going,
                    moving and moving

                    it’s the only faith that I have

                    the only thing I hold on to

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