2 Poems

gathered at the edge as ice as round men gathered in discrete rooms through which we understand their story is something other            in motion            here and the lies of placement like guitar cords or tabletops in gray are stacked on a wall for the ocean is a doorstep where the black ram is laid and where crystal does not ache for anything ~ ~ ~ the accusation of                        periodic tables on a ledge of light in dallas             “heretofore I am not I              nor   you   nor   we” when the walls crack to show remnants of earlier designs where celebration is an accident of angles catapulting the memory into oranges or fishes tucked into cliffs on unknown shores or rivers where the skid began and boats gathered shecouldhavebeenanythingelse