You Were

And she could hear the highway breathing
And she could see a nearby factory
She’s making sure she is not dreaming
(Talking Heads, She Was)

Out past the peeling smokestacks
In a blurring frame of mind
You healed me, in the name of

A dab of smeared dawn
Burst open lock on the gate
We haven’t seen the sky

A lake filled in where the mine
Coal water dead with trout
There’s no more full moon glint

You dreamed all these palazzi
Sheet metal barrel tiles
A no exit vanishing point

And now we scuttle sideways
Lost in the debris field
Our hair turned to chromium

Too much rust and busted glass
I don’t see you / you don’t see me
It’s an iron playpen for ghosts



Richard Manly Heiman lives in the pines of the Sierra Nevada. He works as an English teacher and writes when the kids are at recess. Richard has been published by Rattle, Into the Void, Spiritus (Johns Hopkins U.), and elsewhere. His URL isΒ