Without Words

Without words I couldn't tell
you my grandfather was on
the narrow grumbling about the buzzing-
stairs.You must remember the smell
of the pipe smoke whaling,yanking
our eyes from the sleepy blue.The
foot sorrow and summit song running
with the earth.You must remember
the sound of a love story injecting
venom and the radio blending
the curves and water the shape
of a sunburst being poured above
the trees.Remember the x-ray canvases
covering green skin and brown soap.
Remember the flutes off the the side
of a salt-lined cave and a ruby
and a pearl in a plain tree
no longer green underneath a cucumber
night melting into the pit.
A hairy scream even has a smile
in late spring.A scrape
of hangers under planted with roses.
But what I really want to say
is I'm leaving,going,gone