CLIFF SAUNDERS

Marking the Star

Stopping by woods on the east side
of a quiet street, you’re sorry
from the depths of your heart 
that life is a blue wall of anxiety.
You look around and breathe
a wispy spirit into the mud,
into the cloud over a beautiful house.
It’s so quiet you can hear the rain
saving its energy. You can hear
costumes the diva dared to wear
rustling along a wet boulevard.
For you are everywhere.
Like sullen teens, trees extend
their shadows toward you,
their calculus all wrong.
Song by song, you’re the only one
whose music is paved with eggshells.
O stranger! There’s a place for you
in the beauty that can hide
a person’s hand in the wind.
With sand and grass sprigs,
you sleep better. Even your dog
won’t go out in the rain.
You say goodbye to the dark
(“la, la, la, la, la!”) and listen
more deeply to the sky.
Now you are running far
into the woods, spreading darkness
that will transport you
to a whole different place.
And the star of stars 
over your wall of melancholy
watches while you document
a creeping emptiness filtering
between two 12-year-old boys.
To tell the truth, you must live
as fire on a motionless lake.
You must kiss the clock
of redemption before it’s too late.
Step by halting step, you place
fingerprints all over maple-flavored
sunflower seeds. You decide
to dance to the tune of the torch,
the sound and the sensibility.
Yes, your ruins are hot,
brutalizing one another.
The powerful aura of one spark
is sure to melt your heart,
but will you be changed this time?
All you need is to make love
with the right skin, to mark
the star you surely will die by.