There are glasses on the nightstand
The pair she reads with
Being now the only thing next to me

They gather and focus the sunlight
coming in through the window
onto the pile of unread books

the dress reveals nothing really (cotton, isn’t it?) but quietly suggests the subtle and delicate promise of all that Spring has told me and never gets quite right.

clarified now by soft color against the perfect whiteness of skin clever Spring! never spoke of you one hand touches both flower and flesh as Spring sits silently…waiting.

the nibbling and gnawing uncertainty of a new faith fear of being consumed eaten alive by imaginary things and some not quite

trust deserved, offered even yet tethered by tiny ropes disappearing into fog and dust anchored by them and then and longing to be cast off severed by that firm reliance spoken of, but not quite realized

hearing that the drummer has begun She - being the dancer - moves, smiling slightly behind closed eyes knowing this particular rhythm

ignoring the confused stares i - watching the dancer - sit very still, nodding slowly as if in agreement knowing that particular smile…

…and begin to sing.

whatever shall we do with it that which has made lovely again those things once turned so awful the thought of (well, you know) and the other things unspoken until now

I’ll tell you

we breath it in and savor justly owed not and paid none but in time becomes equal and fear lives on one side balanced as if by the weight of so many ghosts waiting to be put to rest

this takes it elsewhere and here moves it to nothing and all circles and centers and wraps and unwinds frees and ensnares it ends and

begins

melt into me beginning with that soft square inch of kissing

hands pressed places

shared space increasing

until

one

even with the pieces gone removed by recent things which maybe scar and offer up internal bites and stings

there still remains a part of you (some would argue “most”) that can and will and must and may replace what has been lost

with new and bright and future tense and passion, comfortable there’s room to spare – I’ve seen it there and love when you are able.

remaining largely undefined often obscured by… …things for lack of reason absence of singularity a purpose yet unknown

travels deep within those awful places

moves about and out beyond and still

i follow yet another superbly vague and fragile thing.

seeking

It was during those days strange and wonderful, when timid turned to tumultous mystery gave way to mastery each moment hiding it’s own fear (the possibility of it being the last) the early, furtive attempts revealed suprising results of unbridled motion and sound. when we rode that graceful white horse of newly discovered combinations of movement and placement, positional pliability explored in a densely passionate fog of sweat and breath and smoke.

the crumbling sounds are getting louder once distant hints of nothing now cast shadows on my path as i walk amongst these narrow things

i gaze not left or right but i sense the coming of what has always been long away and seeing does no good

and as i laugh the echo coming back as if reflected from some ill-constructed mirror these things not nearly quite so funny