You – the enclosure of the universe
Why?
1.
the crossroads, the forking path, beyond which the clatter
of unknowns, the din of ignorance, the pursuit
of signposts, enveloped in the milks of fog;
one constant; the staff on which my heavy step depends
made of evergreen, undying oak.
2.
eternity, perfection, lightheadedness caused
by unstoppable motion, that always brings
a part of my soul to that sacred place and time
where trembling flesh turned to the word.
3.
the streambed, the smile
the source, illumination of my road
alongside it.
And the bridges emblazoned with
the pearls of your laughter.

Advertisements

in trembling crescendos, so it goes word by word

in multiplied silence

how impotent the pretense conjured by mind,

meagerly dwarfed by absence vast as heart

palpable as flesh

 

how stultified loss becomes, a parasite on routine

fed by devotion, fear, memory’s soft pain

for life had the potential to be

to be good, or not to be this futile

a trope, for sure, but clung to,

for lack of all regularity

we cling to rituals of grief and forgetting

and the frightful/fruitful thing is they work

The roar of griffins over translucent mountains

Shakes the air and quells the tearful contemplation

A study in parting, from a bird’s eye view

Is only a figurine and then another figurine

And the objectively measured space between them

The tears’ infinitesimal volume makes their burning

Unbearably on our skin, negligible as a contribution

To the air’s temperature.

 

Amidst the fanatical efficiency of leaving

The consecrating touch of the skin on your fingertips

On my fingertips, remains as unforgettable as a frame of reference

A reminder that they shall connect again, soon, again soon.

And the soul crunching agony of emptiness

As always best expressed in naïve lyrics of a pop song,

As always wrenching the mind, flogging tears.

But it will soon be over, won’t it? Won’t it?

I no longer had the power of truth in my eyesight

Flicking through canopies of fallen trees

Abiding by the color of the magazine, making amends

With the wind, howling soundlessly just outside

The memory of your warmth that attached to me

Strong as Jim Beam on the rocks

And floating

I no longer had the power of movement in my feet

Sucking on promises of shrinking spacetime

That you will inevitably want of me

Soon, so very soon

I can’t tell myself it can’t be done

I still hold the picture of you imprinted on my temporal lobe

And so I am enthralled

And so I leave you

As paralyzed leafs hush your gentle tap-tapping away

Away.