Art To Action

I saw you out there, that place we don’t trespass,
framed you as a work of art. Little old boy,
all back bones and slow descendings, drooping
oil paint on paint as my perspective altered
and a skin of my heart ripped off
because you’d forgotten our kind don’t go there
or you didn’t care.

Little painting of yourself that you’ve become,
dried colours, such texture that tears
at my feelings flailing like tentacles,
no, jellyfish tendrils, sting.
Sting. How did you turn to such hurting me, without meaning to?

I am over, without you. I will be done.
Image turned to wall
by you being out there, unprotected,
but you are mine, I’m yours, and surely
that’s a force-field against this life,
a hand-knotted blanket, soft, worn, softer,
we are each other, the oxygen in our bodies
drawn from shared breaths so deep, so long.

I run across
the frantic highway
and I pluck this image
of you from the harsh roadside,
stride back, you pinioned to me
too heavy, too heavy
but I’m invincible. Dissolving inside,
imploding as I lie down beside
you, muttering, crooning
please want to live.