Poetry Dave Carillo
What Would You Take from Here?
Now the language of this place has become earbone : all quaver & dust in the unseen
Parts of us : waiting for the outside to enter us : to balance & rebalance us
Against the rim of the drain
::
Inside : the radio fills the walls with honeybees : outside patrols track down the streets
With growing frequency : with nervous gasses & fiftycals : with starlight
For eyes & our faces in satellite photos
::
Often I fall backward into the chambers of my heart : my bloodrush lullabies
& covers darkly the distance between my head & elsewhere : the stillness persists
Until the world again draws me out
::
Like tonight love : I write you surrounded by the moths of roof & wall as mortars
Thump thump not far away
I write you the lungsounds of the fled
I write you the crackling bones of fire
In our ears as this place fragments
::
At times the moon comes unsmiling like a passport buried in the walls
The moonlight unassailably clear
In it I dream still of you washing
Your face in the morning : the water is clean there
Dave Carillo teaches English at the University of Connecticut at Waterbury and is the Writing Coordinator at Saint Joseph College. He lives in West Hartford, CT with his wife and dog.
