dear lover

i am reading your letter that
has been sleeping, like an old
dog faithfully awaiting death,
between the pages of a book
bound in musty leather


and


my sad eyes are traveling oh so
carefully, as if on tenterhooks,
over the curves of each letter
that forms each cautious word
written in ink, dark blue.


alas


i arrive at the name now, the
name that replaced mine. the
flower you spoke of dreamily
as if remembering a scent or 
deep in solemn prayer


(sigh)


i am finished reading and in the
silence everything is illumined,
i am caught in a summer day. 
watermarks of mist and fog
stray from my head.


yet


curiously, not a lump forms in
my throat and my heart settles
to a saunter. somewhere. thunder
rages and lightning crashes but 
do not bring on the rain.

dear lover

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coup de grace

on a distant shore past color and regret
my memory wanders - as the night unclothes 
the moon, petal by petal, light by light -
to when spring sprung for the first time
and i unraveled like all things unravel


falling as if eyes are never meant to see
heart chasing hair chasing breath chasing
dreams that stars with folded arms dream
until all that there is left and left for none
is a wound that carelessly forgets to heal


what now, my love? 


undo with words what  words have undone
for no rain nor scent can wither a memory
these roots shall find its home in the sea
where blue and sand speak death and there
the lie will be the end descending as a kiss

coup de grace

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never is a promise

i look back secretly for i hate offending you
and i behold no footprints only unsettled dust
descending like meteors, beginning of the end
so i dream of what (i think) i have not become.

we're past kilometre zero, but where is here?
i lost myself a while back, sorry i have to ask
i see hundreds of signposts but no destination
why do you let me suffer crashing into ghosts?

cursed, there is no turning back the doors are shut
tell me, should i go forward despite the blindfold?
decide while my hands read the graffiti on the wall
someone was here on the first day after i was born

alas my friend, i am now but stale coffee, insipid
please empty the rusty cup and let me become rain
at least i am something from where there's none
certainly a gift for whom not a day was promised


.

never is a promise

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