Dean Faulwell

3 poems

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The Distance Between Here and Now


With her into a silence that only night can explain.
The silence of the telephone and its story,
the one that leaves the art part out of Oslo.
Often I would see you walking there
and wonder about it. Other times
the moon would seem to slip
between the trees. Or I would imagine
myself interrupting you as you were about
to say something. I never know what.
I always assume more than can happen
and end up having to forgive myself again.
Even so, you open your mouth
and words fly out
like formations of migrating geese.
Then I close my eyes and pretend
it has to be Tuesday. As if that
could be the answer to a prayer.

**

All the Time


I'm where I am
when I'm with you.
You are always
mine for nothing,
even in the morning.
Whenever I almost eat you,
I catch myself
with hands I keep
for catching.
I feel lucky
to be so glad
about everything
all the time.

**

Twilight

More than anything else
life seems to be
a way of gradually forgetting
what the question was,
then sitting down
at the table
to eat what's left of dinner.

**

return to sawbuck 4.2

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Dean Faulwell has appeared in previous issues of Sawbuck.