promise me I'm more than the ghost
of your desiring heart,
your true love
in all the worlds we've ever lived,
the gaze of an inner eye
transfixed upon the shape of
my existence,
then life would not be lived in
strained vanity,
a dust mote in beams of
splendid light
without shadow or gravity,
is such love possible
beyond ideas and
good intentions?
the genie won't go back
in the bottle,
how tight the throttled
vapors as they escape
the chambered waiting,
i will grant you all your wishes,
all your papered wishes,
and dissolve to nothing
before your distracted
presence.
we will fall victim to your
self-actualization,
memorialized by a
mile high black obelisk
with the words
“ABSENCE”
carved into its cold surface,
reflecting no light,
invisible in the coming
night.
oh time you slip away
and i can't catch my breath
as i press against this autumn chill
when the lonely bird
finds its evening tree
and the night wind sways the
branch it calls home
she blinks the stars above
from her tear-filled eyes
and like shooting stars
they fall to the ground below
she will pass unnoticed
she will pass unnoticed
like a dry leaf blown from its
withered twig
my steps beneath the
cold dark trees
a collar to the coming
winter's wind
a movement catches my eye:
a small feather swirls around
the frosty ground and passes
into the night
this time of year
is you to me,
even absence is in the
cool autumn air,
in fading light and the
fading flowers of the
forest glades
tired crickets give their
final performance
before cold solidifies the
grass and earth,
i wear a sweater that
reminds me of you,
i swear your scent is
on its threads
in the place you
rested your head
when i kissed it,
when i gave my heart
to a friend
Life, for me, has been an oscillation between poetry and prose, unconscious and conscious existence. I suspect it's the same for many people, in its own way. Lately I've been able to cultivate a vision of the world, only in part, in which I see everything around me as if I was a soul returned to a body. How would you -feel-, how would you -see-, if you had one last chance to see the world after having lost everything to that eternal night of slumber? Can you find it within yourself to see the world as if having lost it?
a moment to share the
dazzling beauty of earth
traces of the sublime in
your eyes
please just a moment from
busy days and lists of tasks
eternity in some time
together
it's too much to ask on
days like these
days i walk through trees and
flowering fields
while the promise of summer
storms pushes wind through my
long hair and around
blue eyes
scent of wildflowers in
nostrils hungry for something
real and fresh
why are we at such odds?
has complacency replaced the
ever-present moment?
will you chase a list into the
grave?
time will see us out the
flashing frame of life
but can it be together?
time will tell
a many-chaptered story
in which characters
fade in and out
flash like fiery sparks
on a dark summer night
and those with sight will
see
but me?
oh turner of pages
rememberer of tales
i grow old
with whitened hair
wrapped against the cold
snow beating hard my
thin glass illumined by
a meagre flame
twice wrapped against
a childhood shame
whispering not
divine names to
warm an aching heart
i have my own chapters
so old..
they can't be told
