i speak light into coolness of romance
& another falling leaf,
of sadness in ice
& its counting of the numbers
beyond my heart's recognition...
a little smaller than this
& the moon is pouring
again.
yet,
the hazards
of the wayward body persist
& i am unusual
amongst bright flowers.
i celebrate the stubble
scattered across
a plow torn field,
the music
of knowing that you're all alone.
the vines confound me
as they make their way
through my moods
as heavy
as the morning
& as thick
as the parts of you
that turn to broken doves
when i touch them
to my lips.
the sea seems further
away than she should be
&, still, i feel her
whispering past a century's
last pines,
lost amongst the needles
beneath their bark.
i tongue at oxygen
to get a better sense
of her waves.
i feel the space
between us
turn to rust.
may our bodies
remember nothing
when we're gone.
|
Submission Name: of sadness in ice
