Old Friend

You hang around my neck like a brace
restricting movement, singing to me
in your sweet and holy rhyme
repetition will get you by
what you said last week will
remember you, what you said before
will get to you because what you think
will not assimilate

the curtains are half opened eyes
staring at the frost
gathering spiders that drag the dust
into one corner

it moves but it does not move
and from a standpoint of infinity
looking down at their minions,
casting rules and storms
with impish enthusiasm
completely unaware they are being watched
from above

assessed and woven into the fabric

You hang around like a forgotten dream
always just there, under the surface
ready to rear up and consume
the day without purpose or intent

when you examine the gifts you bring
when you lay them out on the table
and try and talk about them
the cocked eyebrow is a flood of
meaning, meandering and echoing
for months

I forgot the last attempt to straighten
the rainbows, how it failed

I forgot you, my friend, ragging on
like a sage