Hummingbird in the Gears
All his fault and a dancing fountain
I would rather be any shape
To recover from this likely
broken so badly
it won’t heal as it should, and me?
It’s a shame. He’s the fracture-legged
doe come winter; I’m the tree
next to the tree which cut itself down.
And like harmonies I’ve never heard
it gets difficult to be myself.
I miss him like you would expect.
Where is all the gosh-damned honey in this forest
where are the give me my me and afterwards
cow-shoed and walking away from a wedding
we were at a wedding you remember? Me
and you the bride and the groom a bridge
between the two only so much as closer
because they walk toward each other moon
grazed and fed with all the space one could tend
for the thunder to roll harmlessly down loudly
and passionately evoking names of unfortunate
ghosts who all but forgotten exist only as curses
and cursory we rolled down a hill holding hands
and the smell of grass as closely to our chests
until the air inside of us the entire summer at once
what mornings I’d like to have with you here
or anywhere where it can rain like this
when it rains like this and we have no excuse to go
Brian Trimboli is studying for his PhD at Binghamton University, and has recently published poems with West Branch and Bodega. He received his MFA from New York University, and his chapbook, The Brothers, Perdendo and Perdendosi, was published in 2013 by No, Dear/Small Anchor Press. Email him at Brian.Poetry@gmail.com.