This is the Wild Place I was Telling You About

by Darryl Price

                  I want you
to remember me. This the place
where I'll always be, if you're looking hard enough.
This is the place I've let
go of all expectations, no regrets, and no
masks. This the place my heart
bobbs about like a living sailboat for you.

This is the space I sought best
to envision once. This is the place
savored to the fullest in my deepest, wordiest
lines. This is the place where
I went in, with or without any
grace. This is the place that
might as well be a secretive

garden. I can't ever imagine you as
being a stranger here since it
was built with your presence in mind.
This is the place I made
peace with all other beings first. I
wished them their own happiness. This
place my cell wall has to 

push itself through. This the place where
art unleashes original singing like a 
telekinesis machine. This is the place I
smiled back at you from. This
is the spot I placed my
hand on the cave wall and
called across all time to ask for

your true feelings. This the place I finally
danced, the place I think aloud.
This the crack where I survived the
end of the world. This is
the place they can never understand
is all around us. This the
place they are standing on. This

is the space not ever for sale. This
is the "X"  only discovered by
those who bring their own individual maps
with them. This is a place
only a lover would get to know. This
is the dreaming place. I told
you about meeting me here years ago.

This is the place that must do
the talking for us. Keys are
where you'll find them. This is the
place, always a part of things, still the
most natural way to fling open
doors between nows. This is the
place I planted you your wild flowers.

Bonus poem:

The sky became its own monster

for some of us. Some of us died. 

We had our blue on the blessed 

days when nothing happened, but you 

know otherwise their predictions 

came all too true. The war waged on.

One by one we were captured by 

the bitter, dull indifference 

of certain insulated folks 

and shoveled off to the side of 

the road. It didn't surprise us, 

it just saddened us to our bones. 

We left the farms and turned on the 

sickening TV. We drank the 

latest gasoline and choked on 

the way to the emergency 

room. The line was as long as it 

ever was. No Jesus could have 

done it justice.And now our kids 

aren't sure what to make of the books 

and movies and art and noise that 

our drowning bonfire makes. They don't 

understand the mean destruction 

any more than we did. They'll start 

the whole process over again, 

waiting for their own children to 

choose another planet to live 

on together. We'll wash to sea.