Away

Words seek out

in the parody,

and look for clues

in the backdrop

of the repetition

this day, the day,

this departure…

Hot skies hum

vibrate to gray,

dotting brush-

strokes, opaque

glass windows,

your face, gone,

trains of kisses, for

another day.

You

I never want to forget. I chose not to let go...

* * *

My stomach has burned itself into a state of numbness. Self-diagnosis: hopeful nervousness, and I no of cure, except for the chalky fizz of Alka Seltzer I’ve recently acquired. I find this swirly and sandy magical mess to ease the clenched fists of anticipation throwing right hooks inside my stomach. The hissing fizz takes me back to a former self, my youth, when I lived closer to the ocean, when salt and fog lived within my hair, and how, when life and love managed to spread out before me like the shoreline, making the horizon touchable.

Field Notes on Silence

For L

It’s the temperance of our silence,

ghostly attempts fall into the hollow

when the heart pauses, needs to define,

and desire curls itself up, still

believing it’s the vessel, if it only had a voice.

We slowly morph into faceless dreams,

arch-starved darkness; it’s there

we feed the wildest of our beasts,

and lie with them in quiet

Asylums, sheltered from rays of wind and light.

Timing

Keats reminded us, the most important arguments we'll ever have is with ourselves. Okay, that might be true, and if writing is one the greatest forms of intimacy, then we must step outside ourselves and fearlessly love. There's nothing of greater importance we need to wait for.

Beautifully reminded today that the pen is mightier than the sword. Justice will prevail...

What Comes with Silence

I’m not sure if was the tick of the fan,

Making the sound of a rattler

Next to my bed, or my own voice

Hovering over my body, euphoric and listening

To what had to be said. Are you there?

It’s midnight and I’m awake,

Leafing through the books of poetry I left

Out for you. I find the ribbons

That wrapped around 1936,

A book of Victorian poetry

I gave you only a week ago. And, so, I wait

On the deck outside with a fervent solitude

Oblivious to an end or beginning,

Only knowing of the moon, and how

It has shifted its weight across the sky.

Changed

Sometimes we wait for something and we’re not sure what it is, but we know in the center of our soul that we must believe, have blind faith, pursue on for the sake of love, especially when it seems like years have turned into decades, because sometimes they do…but truth takes time and the real story needs a chance to surface.

Then you graduate from a place you would be a stranger, if you chose to go back.