Page 3
deluge v
am i real,
or is it only birds
who suffer unreality,
blithe
in the empty infinite?
rockbottom,
the sky unburdens
its innocence
in icicles,
dripping into slow mirages
of wisdom,
clear as ancient crystal
mirroring
the cracks of time.
i am no more real
than the embrace
that makes us real,
the purely real
a wasteland of losses,
courageous
possibilities abandoned
beside
the narrow path
of our intimacy,
rising above the treeline.
all is finally clear,
and the birds soar
effortlessly,
forgetting that we
are their prey.
deluge vi
eloquence at last,
in the mist
that hung
in the unspoiled silence,
glistening like crystal
in the hesitant sun,
my wakefulness lurching
towards the limits
of the eye,
urgency in every gentle touch
of light,
our intimacy spread
like a sheltering shadow,
adding majesty
to the birdless sky.
the dawn never lost its freshness
even as darkness labored
in the mind,
seeding the emptiness
with idle thoughts,
as though they were myrmidons
of meaning
rather than the waste matter
of the senses.
death hurried briskly
through time,
making every moment
the last,
and most lasting,
for each outlasts
my longing for you,
throwing idle darts
at your flesh.
one will stick
in memory
so that we can forget ourselves.
