Thomas Lux Poems
|2.||The Voice You Hear When You Read Silently||12/12/2013|
|5.||He Has Lived In Many Houses||1/13/2003|
|7.||The Road That Runs Beside The River||1/13/2003|
|8.||Unlike, For Example, The Sound Of A Riptooth Saw||1/13/2003|
|9.||Marine Snow At Mid-Depths And Down||1/13/2003|
|11.||Henry Clay's Mouth||1/13/2003|
|13.||The Man Into Whose Yard You Should Not Hit Your Ball||1/13/2003|
|15.||A Little Tooth||1/13/2003|
|16.||A Library Of Skulls||1/13/2003|
|18.||"I Love You Sweatheart"||1/13/2003|
"I Love You Sweatheart"
A man risked his life to write the words.
A man hung upside down (an idiot friend
holding his legs?) with spray paint
to write the words on a girder fifty feet above
a highway. And his beloved,
the next morning driving to work...?
His words are not (meant to be) so unique.
Does she recognize his handwriting?
Did he hint to her at her doorstep the night before
of "something special, darling, tomorrow"?
And did he call her at work
expecting her to faint with delight
at his celebration of her, his passion, his risk?
She will know I love her now,
One wave falling forward meets another wave falling
hand-hauled, mineral, cool, could be
a kiss, or pastures
fiery green after rain, before
the grazers. The kiss -- like a shoal of fish whipped
one way, another way, like the fever dreams
of a million monkeys -- the kiss
carry me -- closer than your carotid artery -- to you.