they say time is a flowing river:
the moment you can say 'this, this'
of a glint or a clarity on the surface
the ripples of the water shift
the wind, a cloud
and somewhere in me,
veins tangle
loose, tepid fibers, holding all my life---
maybe i'd rather be stone, just lay someone
soft against me
even this bone isn't hard enough, under my shirt,
with teeth as soft as eyelids, what would that make my lips
and here you are, walking around like you do
there you are, standing
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You have such a way with photographs in your words. What a beautiful world you paint for us each time.
ReplyDeleteyes, the ending. I get it. That is it.
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