I want       Oakland
                like oil widening through water
                like infected lights on a grid
                swallowing one another into
                one long liquid droning
                line of gentle darkness
down the coast

                we pass       through forestry’s serrated edges
                sticks stretching out of dusk branches
                displaced limb shadows swaying to become
                sliced in the images of wind to become
                the trees, the twigs, the ground

                I want          to slip through this moving window
                to shred the treespent fraying ends with
                my own stretching arms
                my only branches
                a mutual manicure from follicle to bone

                we pass       every house I've ever wanted to be
                half-carved dark and waterlogged,
                half bright occupied with red-dressed dancers
                answering questions by way of gravity
                outliving trees and trains and me
                at least for now
                keeping every porchlight on

                I want       to be passed

March, 2013