Was empty the timeless wakening

too much mist for stars to align

no ceasing no beginning

picking up threads and dropping them

along the way to nowhere

a shuffling through dust and seed.

Straightening out a nonlinear barrage

emotions mislabeled tucked away

like wings or socks but it’s growing late.

It’s a life so short, but the days stretch

beyond what is comfortable.

Too tight or not tight enough, too warm

with no sense of warmth.

Much time is spent imagining

and then forgetting

because pretend things are painfully distant.

I’m as empty as hands cupping river water.

I am minutes in a sprawling galaxy.

The wall was perfect.

Green. A little weathered.

The brick nearby loved how

the fading sun gave way

to hanging lanterns swaying gently

on the Indian summer breeze.

I rifled as many memories as I could

and he filtered all but a few,

which wasn’t quite enough.

But it didn’t matter.

Words flowed like a familiar touch.

The empty room listened.

It was like a world unfolded

inside open arms. And it was warm,

a smile we could wear.

And then he laughed

and I watched his eyes watching mine.

We danced -across the table.

1)

An explosion rocked no one

but a few birds were left shaken;

she slipped out of her skin

and left it for him,

another piece gone but not missing.

2)

A ship somewhere is lost

with only soggy embers

falling in the eyes of fish

and he folds himself into a square

hoping to fit into what’s expected

because nobody wants the dreamer

to take the lead.

3)

A sliver of salvation

grabs hold of them by the wrist

but it’s a tenuous connection,

undone and redone

until the idea of being saved

is as redundant as a daytime moon.

Melting pavement

disappeared

as we flew.

The laughter

was lost

to trade winds

that carried us

beyond the known.

Those were days

of tangy warmth,

fresh and swollen

and full of mirth.