A Few Junes

I didn't know,
even as she wheeled away,
stirring her diseased mind,
even in the impetus of inaction,
downing fireball,
glass after glass after glass
of red red wine.
I didn't know.
But I did know,
that in the Chesapeake Bay,
There was a June morning
where we were all there
and the ocean was shrinking.
And I did know
how much white pearls could
put a caustic fire in my heart,
my lungs swelling to fit the
performance of fits and swelling.
And I did know
folk songs and the useless trivia
of an irish poet,
the flotsam of a sinking ship,
bursting over the harbor.
And last last June I had
my very own drowning soul,
And this June I get to feel her skin again...
And a June and a half before that I heard
God and I listened for a while,
A convulsing psychosis,
dead in a floating love
as the ecstacy of perfection led
into the absence of perfection
But I'll have to wait a few Junes
before I remember what that meant.