Two poems by Alan Chazaro

I’m not convinced I should be leaving, but I’ve already left. Between moons I’ve become displaced, the dance of lost tectonics. Maybe that’s why I move silently beneath the floor. Maybe that’s why I’ve let go. Let’s agree to disagree. I’ve never been able to walk a straight path. It’s not simply defiance; it’s that I’ve been raised on a different axis. Not everything is parallel but I find pleasure in perpendiculars. I can’t remember the last time we argued but it must’ve tasted like candy in a child’s cavity. This doesn’t mean something is wrong. It’s more like waking up to learn the blue sky is still blue. Who wants to find crookedness in the arrangement of their clouds? It hasn’t rained in Neo California for years. I wonder if that should alarm us. I’m insensitive to the sensitivity of certain ethers. I feel the space around me like an astronaut floating the dark. Today I told my wife that the blood of this soil rushes our veins. I meant it. I’d like to know what’s more powerful than the both of us listening to ourselves while wandering the city of our past. We can barely afford our native planet but we will make a home for ourselves in the hands of another god. We will not push each other in a direction besides going into our own flesh. It’s time to go. What happens on earth will remain with the glaciers.