for Peter Godeschalk

here you build your pyramids in the quiet: seashells for ornate foundations: the distant ghosts of the oceans sounding from each: you hold the two of hearts above your head and dream: your mind unraveling like a ball of string: past the pages of poets: the soft tics of a pocket watch: dusty and unused: yet still audibly capable: you think of old telephones: with separate mouthpiece and earpiece: someone whispering through the line of time: two of hearts: and you regress back to a brass lamp: a light barely flickering alive: your collar ruffles itself into an earlier century: love letters written to you: sit on the cold marble tabletop: tied with string: a line from the top one reads: two of hearts are these. . . . : and you cannot be the card pharaoh: building monuments to yourself any longer: you have these two hearts in your hand: that’s enough to set the world to dreaming