Triangle for Two


We two stood still, stalled in an unnecessary triangle. You and I and it and no new
planets. This ocean swallows them. (Offer no apology to the painful bright objects,
obligations wearing their verbal flags, flags caught storming to the light switch every
time the depths in you came out for a fresh sniff.)
Each in turn we watched a third fear eat the other into cold retreat while previously
known fear climbed out, coughed and dove again. You bluffed and came up on the other
side of the disturbance. (You sputtered as if you had swallowed the lake, too eager to
cross the shallow remainder of caution, bored empty.)
The third fear saw us blinded with wonder, too much for ourselves, this one like
this and that one like this. (Offer no apology for salted ambitions, for the rocking horse
still rocking, for juggling fat clouds, for the vinegar and honeyed twaddle of forgiveness,
for sour breath and bacon fat in the back seat of our life’s misfortune.)
Everything you said was right and it brought me closer, close enough to say what
was wrong. It was another whisper, broken like a vase and a broken vase is simply no
longer a vase. When you tell the mirror, it tries to repeat what I’ve said and fails,
gesturing too formally (restrained as I must have been before I detached the burden).
What I remember is the moment you tossed the gun across the empty room because
of what you thought about doing, because of the reason you had forgotten why you had it.
I watched like some impossible emotional elephant poised for a performance on a red
footstool. Both of you were watching to see if I would dance my way back to an
audience. (Both of you were laughing and bumping into each other and throwing kisses at
moonboys while the nighttime odor of the swamp applauded.)
I remember thinking someone had tipped me over. I must have been raised up and
higher than I was. There was something I wanted and I put it in your ear. I no longer
wanted it back. (It was a moment of pleasure and we took it with us. It was all that we

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.