
A raw overcast sky
hangs softly outside
of my insolent, unblinking window.
A milkshake of monochromes
and bald-faced satellites
march unseen
behind the ashen veil.
–
I can feel myself sinking
with every breath.
My thoughts are heavy and insistent.
My hands are caged birds
weakened by tension
and fragile as they pound
fruitlessly against my pillow.
No one but me
can hear the cracks
taking hold of my heart.
No one but me can hear
the terrible, taunting hiss
of my liquid pain released.
–
The stars
count my wishes.
Wishes that I will
someday follow
from one adage to another.
Wishes that must be forgotten
to reach fulfillment
because more often than not
I get in the way of myself.
I am not patient
the way nature is patient.
I would rather destroy
something than contemplate
the hours between
one moment and the next.
–
The space between us
feels especially solid,
it has fangs and claws
and if I let you in
too deeply
I know your absence
will consume me.
–
We will always have
the moon floating
like a pumice stone
on top of the water
by the lake.
The leafy hands
of a primal nation
extending towards
our bare legs
like needy children
as we spin in circles
from one end
of your unkempt yard
to the other.
–
As I sit here,
in a state of hiraeth
and mild panic
I wonder
if I really have what it takes
to belong to someone,
to have memories of someone,
to be at home with someone
and not get lost
between the words.