-“My heart is yours,” she says in almost a whisper, as if, it weren’t meant, as if, the words had found themselves standing already at her lips, perhaps, they had waited long, they had been there, not intended, but yearned for, invoked by desire, and not by the moment, not by the presence, now standing before her.
-yearning to fade and become that which is not; the silent wind discerned at waking in pain and screaming without a voice in the obscure dusk when the darkness disappears under the weight of light yearning for each nail and cell of my being, to collapse to its becoming ash and of the ash, to make prints the kind that disappear at the breath of the wind without sound yearning to breath in cold and fill my cavity congeal the pulses and the throbbing of my heart
-Waiting for your return, I sit here thinking of nothing else You’re like the morning dancing in the light of day And I want to go with you Be lost in all the wonder
-The upturned crystal filled with crimson as droplets fall, lucid memories trickle down leaving latent stains pale flesh cresting at the thought a quivering continues the remedy, smoke slowly evaporate bit by bit by bit someday perhaps, a smile
-Love is an echo, only the dust survives wind sweeps memory, its colors fade and crumble fingernails become dark, scratching to hold on ashen remnants of the possibility of being those moments of heart swells pulverized and scattered at a loss, the vibration echoes as the heart pumps dust and hope…
-There’s the fear, it clangs within releasing echoes, vibrations of the soul, reverberations of the self. The solitude of the garden, the still air, the clamoring of loss, the clamoring within. It’s the only sound left, on silent nights, in the room’s darkness, after you have left. It awakens the scratching, the mice, trying to eat through the walls. We’ve built this place together and I fight them off, to suffer no more loss.
-The soft breeze blowing unsettles grains carrying them away from their space Tumbling across and through and over, falling from their former place Sea salt air blows on them and slows them, chilling them and grounding them The cycle of crashing, the waves, the water beckons, drawing them near Each gust of sea borne breath, tempting the grains to continue Tempting them, to never return, as if they could, to where they were Each swell’s rise, shaking them, each with the frenzy of possibility
-How time goes by and leaves, us here with faded memories, a scent that does not easily disappear, all the while the sun continues, traveling down, burrowing itself behind the fallen clouds, leaving behind your wrinkled brow, was it then, indecision, that makes you think back now. The missteps taken in the dusk of day, and how so slowly, in the dying light, you watched the spark of possibility fade away even as your throat choked, longing to cry out, and you swallowed hard, dry -the salty mixture, cascading on your lips, watching the world change through blurry eyes. Even […]
-Under the moonlight-spilling into the room through thin curtains-under the thin brown blanket, under the white sheets, the body breathes heavily. There is no twitching of the hand, of the fingers, no strain on the muscle to hold the arm’s bone. There is a movement, not readily visible, not disturbing. A quick vibration, lifting but not opening, the eyelids. There is a silence, unquieted, only momentarily, with each quick exhalation after a long stream of breath, inhaled, swallowed, consumed. Silence, in the dark hour. The moonlight trapped behind the clouds of dusk. The room, quiet, still, empty, but for the […]
-The corridors continue, going nowhere. The body is wheeled through and its eyes, in its laconically motionless head, scan the crevices of the space, the walls, the forms of the people walking by in white robes and blue scrubs. It searches, as it can, slowly, for something like the orderly, something which represents the familiar, something which soothes, but there is nothing. Nothing more than the movement forward, which while still new, is the most familiar thing in the body’s experience, since waking. It is not recognized by the body, but it beckons back to the body’s previous awareness before […]