the focus of your photograph leaves you shaking, breaking laugh for cry of body/of clutch of me for knöw’ i’m here– could you see me, would you stare in ‘turn so shaking is seen not by me, but with you?
musings & scribbles
once, far from here, an angel knew
her way to waker’s dreams–
or were they photographs?–
or were they lost in determination?–
either the way, she, in me, was held
without hands nor mind, but in suspension
‘wixt lips’ limits, wide in silent breathe of her,
this, the only angel willed to walk ‘spite her wings,
those risen or drift-in wind cumbersome things
we are as the shadow is:
a reflection/sign/symbol of something
different
with word wound tight to thought/
lip
time is but a calendar,
a marking of what is, for
without such limits, how quickened would the
mind be?
i deserve all which forefollows me.
You’ve taken my thoughts,
Leaving this emptiness
to void, a shadow’d ink
But spilled and left for dry.
finnecky wind breaks past unshuttered window,
waving loudly ‘gainst thoughts of you in want
of some response inward/tongue-led toward silence,
love’s closest ally in defense of isolation–
what word rises, rests in swoop-drawn perch
upon mind’s budding spicket stuck/imobile within
body’s pearl-mounted barrier or cavern-positioned
catcher of the breeze in motion numb’d beneath shiver-leaves.
that feeling– the
warmth/numb of skin under self–
how
nerve folds,
burning/
casting in for fear of char–
that breath/
stagnant,
waiting
for tide of motion to sooth/to part its
wake–
that silence,
boiling steady in simmer’d spot
so distant as to be unreachable yet
scarring to touch–
what
lies upon this wind in making fragrance/heat
a palpable taste of something/
of lightened air
in rub of ‘neath?
bend ‘fore breaking,
break ‘fore bending,
leave
or speak
‘fore both.
You’ve taken my thoughts,
amongst which you have my heart.
Eyes:strange. Grin:grimaced.
Curve:’volving toward your eyes/your grin/your motion, quieted in lax of gravity/
your ‘deas, deeper-sought in memory’s time–
unraveled, you
drape to floor/to feet/to
thigh/to chest/to
grin/to
eyes.
i sit here,
motion’d but moving-not,
alone
but accompany’d.
who follows
guide-
lines hoping for a path
to per-
fection– longing!
a knowledge
not of Quiet’s retreat,
but of
water-walking.