N a p
a l
m H e
a l t
h S p
a : R
e p o
r t 2
0 0 9
LISA
BIRMAN
if everything were
the
there would be
no
there would be
no
no
there would be
no
there would be
no
(and so many
(trees
(untorn
(and possible
of imagining
i am capable of trains and people on them. of cracks in wood. of almost impossible
windows
i am capable
of a small and smiling boy
hand across throat
a sentence
taken and retaken
i am
wagon after wagon
falling and not falling
i am
no space
no air
no reaching
the ground
by daylight and not
by sea
he is for tidal theory
waiting for a lost language
the what if of two stars
equally dissolving
the weight
of one hand
upon another
picture canvas
(dyed and sewn
wind to move through
over water
by land
he is gathering instruments
units of measure
this being true
by the actions of water and air
he is tracing
the stony surface
watching the rise and fall
(of mountains
over time
under cover
continents drift and so does he
by air
he is swept away
restless now
lights diverge eyes close
by sea and by land (he dreams
almost mathematical
one star two three
perfectly elastic
gasping
coming to the brink
what falls away
(and where
you are years on my skin my hair years beneath my fingers
years of telephone years of no not that coffee shop no not that
weekend you are years of wanting and years of not wanting to tell
you are always grey and always waiting you across my shoulders
you under the bed you are years of silent you are driving off the
road you are jumping from the car you are and you are lovely