Wednesday, July 7, 2010

breaths between the 4 and the 6

Illusive passageways echo to the bend.
The distance between time.
No train to either side.

No, I have not forgotten
the way my throat swelled
to another realm of thirsty
when faced with your face. Your slightly open mouth.
Thin and nimble, legs only for you.

Ventricle to lonely ventricle,
every thunder of you first sung in refrain.
Sorry-song swimmer, you are of the sea,
drowned, your magic was tragic and black.
Urchin choruses sad-saw cry:
for your nets, I was foam.
The sinew.
Between you
and I.

Saw you all silver. Mysterious as forgiveness.

Circular skylines deeply repeating,
elapsing morning arms,
coffee table dawn with no poetry in sight.
Away inches from a scripted deity of cartography;
a partitioned abyss, leagues down you found
stubborn flowers, a front-seat kiss.

You, of the lines.
As effervescent
as clothes-pins
strung up on twine.
Pulsing, this harmony embodies
homage to the wind, to life.

Any day now, any day now,
fall apart in this metaphor.
Moonlight corridor, night after night.