Troubadour
by Richie Hofmann
I wear your shirt
Winds with unpronounceable names
Bother the trees
There’s a town up the road
Where locals sell their bodies
Their cows
Their blankets
The winds whisper and bellow
Late summer
Bunches of violets
The river embraced you
The river embraces every man that jumps into it
The gate darkened by moss
Slams loudly against the house
Where your grandmother was born
And I dream of you
In the unmade bed
I dream that we live together
Animals rise unbeautifully
Spiders find their way
Is that what bit me
In the belly?
It gets me a little hard
Imagining our blood mixing
The winds so violent
When they cross the mountains
The farmhouses have their backs to them
The towers are open
So that the winds can pass through them—
I sleep with my back against you
Break it
Press your fresh against it
I’m sorry
Have you ever experienced a dream as if it were a memory?
Not like a story
I mean the sensation
Romans saw the winds as horse-gods
Galloping across the earth
They trample me with impeccable hooves
At noon the light falls vertically
And combs their flanks
And their tails sweep the sea
What blows through the impenetrable
Come close to me
What stays with me is the wind doing all the work of longing. It bothers, bellows, tramples. And then that unmade bed. The softest image after so much violence.
Hynotic. Emotional. Gorgeous. On the tip of a dream or a dream?