object permanency

I am trying to write again, but things aren't coming out fully formed.
 I'm only getting vague impressions of the pieces I want to create. 
Help me edit if you can see where this should go.

sometimes the bottom dropping out is just

a pair of hands over your eyes. the black

isn't full of ends, or isn'ts, or never was.

it's just black, and the hands still belong to

the same person holding you, the same 

breath on your neck and press on your rib cage.

you are still there.

you will not disappear or go invisible.

and you are held through the darkness,

till you find your way out.

church hill

Here is a recent piece that went through a lot of revision.
I wanted to communicate in concrete images and also create a shift in speed towards the end of the poem. 

Parked at the top of the hill in a copse of square 

brick houses under nightfall, we exit the car and 

walk ten feet to where the hill dips low, street 

sinking beneath us.

I’ve had four drinks and I’m giddy – maybe more 

endorphins than ethanol. I try to keep from skipping and 

losing my balance while you adjust my camera, holding your 

phone with the off hand for extra light. 

I’ve been looking at albums from the sixties lately – my 

grandfathers with their giant photobox cameras, posing their 

wives in sundresses and S-curve hair at every tourist stop 

for future slideshows.

It’s not expectation, just a moment of seeing photos inside-out.

She makes awkward faces beautiful. He puts the warmth in her eyes.

Punchdrunk –– I feel like falling off the earth.

I prop one leg behind me. Face you and the camera.

Let it out. Break a smile. The world’s on fire.

City lights envelop me.

We shine brighter.

swimming

I had a long hiatus from writing. Recently I have written poems only sporadically. 
Here's the one that broke the dry spell - I am very not satisfied with it.

just when I had forgotten

the texture of the ocean

tired of tracing letters in the sand,

I was sitting on the shore

drying up, when the sea lion beached himself.

he called to me like a shipmate.

like a lost love.

I found my legs

stood gesturing, offering

to drag him toward the water.

waves lapped away the sand between my toes. 

the lion chuffed, calmly.

I bent to wrap my arms around him, to pull him to the tide.

my feet stuck in the disappearing beach.

a seagull cried. the rip current struck.

the lion leapt into the water, pulling me with him.

the tingling sensation in my lungs gave way to

the feeling of his tail around my thigh, prodding me to move.

I leaned on him to kick. he pushed his head against my breast

from underneath. we fought upward.

breaching the surface of the waves

I gasped for breath and caught the eyes

of the lion, whiskers wide, as he did the same.

he stared green against the blue abyss.

“all mammals learn to swim,” he said.