‘It’s Ours’ by Charles Bukowski

It’s Ours

there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing

that
gentle pure
space

it’s worth

centuries of
existence

say

just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won’t
get it all

ever.

Pieces of you

If your mouth were a cave

I would crawl into it,

and find my way to the cranial staircase.

I would reach for every message —

every signal sent — and read each one earnestly.

If your thoughts were an ocean

I would dive into it,

and let the tides carry me wherever.

If your body were a mountain

I would ascend it,

and gather from the scree the pieces of you that were lost over the years.

I would tackle your crags and your slopes

until I reached your peak, holding your fragile fragments in my cupped hands.

If my body were a diary

I would open my pages for you

so you could write down all the things that you cannot tell me.