I want Oakland
calm
like oil widening through water
like infected lights on a grid
swallowing one another into
one long liquid droning
line of gentle darkness down the coast
we pass through forestry’s serrated edges
sticks stretching out of dusk branches
displaced limb shadows swaying to become
sliced in the images of wind to become
the trees, the twigs, the ground
I want to slip through this moving window
to shred the treespent fraying ends with
my own stretching arms
my only branches
a mutual manicure from follicle to bone
we pass every house I've ever wanted to be
half-carved dark and waterlogged,
half bright occupied with red-dressed dancers
answering questions by way of gravity
outliving trees and trains and me
at least for now
keeping every porchlight on
I want to be passed
March, 2013