i have not entered the room
where
we devoured each other.
where our
bodies feasted upon each other
with desire,
and hunger.
light enters
and casts shadows
that shift across the floor.
a gentle breeze, soft as breath,
stirs up echoes.
i hear faint sounds
that are almost voices,
almost words,
almost memories.
a small candle sits close by
giving off just enough light
to brighten the room.
it gives off a little warmth
and glows softly in the corner.
i left the curtains open
and decided to leave them that way
outside, everything is perfectly still.
heavy snow hushes
everything around me.
even the snow itself
falls without a sound,
leaving no trace
on this quiet night
the world now
feels monochromatic:
white snow and dark tree branches.
white snow and darkening tree branches
it feels like the world
is turning inward,
gently closing in.
how many times
have i truly been present
like this before,
like i am tonight?
have i ever held
my breath, quiet,
and myself, just waiting
for the sound of daylight
to fade away?
for the sound
of daylight
to drift quietly away like
the faint warmth left behind by a candle.
The clock in the cottage
keeps time in its own way
It gets cold at night
and feels stifling by noon
I hang my shirts up to dry
on the hooks hanging from the ceiling
I’ve been sitting here for a while
with this clock that never tells the truth
just thinking to myself
“my god, this is so very perfect.”
shadows
of hands reaching
to face
of naked flesh
of hands to body
of being
and of becoming
the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.
the birds woke me up early.
the sky is getting lighter, and the day has just begun.
how could i be upset with the birds?
pattern
of melt-water
drip
the breeze stirs
the chimes
they brush against
bare branches
the breeze slows
melt-water
dripping
silhouettes of trees
dusk
blue sky fading
branches breathe in the
wind
the wind
passes through
the trees
bare branches
sway
then the house
starts to creak
we are
talking
When I am in the woods, I stay quiet
I want to be like a tree
A tree only moves when something moves it
It does not try to imitate anything else
It is always true to itself
the day is too still
to begin.
I hope the sun
never breaks
through the clouds.
I hope my mind stays
unclear
and every breath
barely a whisper.
what then?
what else?
onebreathpoetry.com 