Stacked

Exploring the law reminds me of
Tiptoeing through abandoned buildings as a child 
And finding dusty calendars tacked on a wall
With loopy cursive anticipations—

Rotary dial telephones and wooden recipe boxes 
Left for what? Tuesday dinner September 23, 3034?

What is any written record for—

If not for us quietly to explore like children looking for something more 

Than whatever today’s plans hold? 

Do not forget to close the kitchen door 

On your way out. This life is one plate

In a stack on a waiter’s hand that holds a dozen more. 

Scars

When the sun comes up, it'll tear the sky
Like a razor tears a wrist,
But I'll be safe in bed with you
Where every cut is like a kiss.

When the dark descends, it’ll find us blindly
Tracing the constellations
Of our scars across the empty space
Of flesh in which they're hung.

We didn’t know when we were young
That every effort is undone by time,
And we’re still in it. Wiser now,
We fall asleep and dream of immortality.