There is a veil in her mind:
gossamer, but not meant for weddings;
tulle, but not meant for delight.There is a veil
dulling sensations
obscuring motivations
changing expectations
shaking her foundations;
removing the world.There is a veil in her mind.
She knows: there is a veil.
She knows.
What, then, is the speed of dark?
A heartbeat, my friend, a heartbeat.
A thin-edged blade
balanced on a finger
tip –
tips:Shadows move my mind;
within my mind –
eternity.
I come to our conversation late
my dear, and in chains —
spinning memories below the wall
of half-forgotten, half-overheard promises.I reflect on
the last days of spring on
— emotionality —
before the core of your program
relaxes, releases, rewrites
the never-final revision
of our story
all over again.This, this:
no-one you know.
Country and vista both unreal and not,
out there yet forever ephemeral,
lost now except for a warped recollection
stored in my memory.
Sound of crows, scent of pine needles
the cold, wet cloth that makes your arms sluggish
your fingers unable to grasp the beauty of the moment.
I have torn out
all of our last pages,
burned them
in the trash,
in the fire,
in my heart.You are the one who now
has to remember us,
if anyone shall.I am forgetting;
Am I forgotten?(I did not burn them – I locked them away in my darkness).
the ship is a dream
he dreams
on days when all other dreams fail him.
the ship is a sound
he breathes
on days when all speech fails him.
the ship is a vision
he sees
on days when all sight fails him.the ship is a dream
the ship is the void
the ship is the star
the ship is the light
the ship is forever[and never
never and always
always and ever –
never; forever].Others might dream;
he is the ship.
We met in a bar, in LA, in the sixties
You were playing your first gig,
I had not yet been born.
We touched by accident, on purpose,
As a demonstration,
There was a spark (the air was dry,
Electrostatics at play), we simply did not let go.Wandering through cherry blossoms
I told you our story: we would meet once again,
Have three kids, last thirteen years.
Later, it would all be as if we never had met,
Except for three lives, heartache, endless what-ifs.
We would always love, always regret meeting,
Spiralling into extasy, conflagration, letting go.The moment passed, the mirrors disaligned,
Our hands slipped… … …You had to play an encore,
I had to get ready
To be born.
Gentle waves on an infinite sea
out there; the only place
where our restless hearts
don’t feel the pull of time.Oh,
lift your eyes,
my sunfriend –
the stars will call us
home again.
her heart is a blur
against the back wall
with the coldness behind
no way out
but forward —
Through the arching sky.
There is a rumor on the street;
There is a dancer in his dreams,
That moves to music strange and free.There is a window in her mind,
That calls her out onto the Ledge
One step, one step – the dancer flies!These are the dreams
that no-one dreams,
These are the sights
that no-one sees;There is a rumor on the street:
She dances,
she dances.
In your dreams
you reach the place
where your might-have-beens
sing softly
to themselves.
Once in a while a snowflake falls softly;
winter storms at the dawn of the day,
cotton kisses ice cold countrysides,
frozen leaves ring brittle in the breeze
then skitter down the road, lost to the world.
Breath freezes pale in the morning darkness,
snow crushes under empty footsteps,
and horses will shy when the raven draws near.Icicles lend themselves to thoughts of frozen tears,
quickly, the emptiness crawls over the crystallized lawn
swallowing, drowning, eating, screeling – hungry;
black and white and cold are the endless winter’s colors
but uncaring, the people pass by.For only horses will shy when the raven draws near.
Cowboy lullabies
and country skies
songs of the road
calling your soul
into the open again.Campfire conversations,
minor chords;
an old, old frontier,
ancient as time’s first memory.They take your wayward heart,
and guide it home.
Fragmentary words about
metaphorical curtains
haunt me, from time to time,
and make me wonder
if you rue choosing them;
on clearsighted nights,
when the darkness seems close.Stars wait; darkness waits; silence waits.
On clearsighted nights I discover myself waiting.
Clearsighted nights
call for oblivion.