the sky glows pink
a thin line of color appears on the horizon
it looks pale and soft
the trees stand as dark silhouettes
the humid air lingers around me
the heaviness is broken
a gentle breeze brushes past
it touches my skin softly
it is just a soft touch
hold on a moment
stay here through the night
stay
silhouettes begin to move
they move with grace
a thin strip of light appears
now, it is early dawn
stay here through the night
stay
it’s midday.
i empty the used coffee grounds
from the press.
it’s too late now for
another cup.
i carry the
grinds to the compost;
walking barefoot through the grass
the air is thick with humidity
the lawn
feels damp underfoot.
i pause, gaze upward,
shielding my eyes
from the sun.
above me,
one thin wisp
of cloud.
it seems adrift, out of place.
can you see this?
wherever you are,
can you see this?
the shape of the cloud
is so feminine
in shape;
voluptuous, round,
gesturing in a way that is both crude
and shy way.
can you see this?
i feel out of place.
here in the yard,
on the grass soaked with humidity.
can you see me?
wherever you are,
can you see me?
i stand there until
the cloud
melts away into blue,
a rich blue,
a humid blue.
wherever you are,
can you see me?
rainwater pools
on
the field
reflect
the sky
and the setting sun
they glow with color;
from
one surface to another
crimson fading into violet
and then night falls.
My body holds memories.
I sense time slipping by
through my fingertips.
Sometimes I lie awake
and trace the lines
that reveal my story
in the thickness
of my gut.
or I wander in
my dreams
looking for colors
that belong to things
I’ve forgotten.
This is time.
Cedar shingles
tell the story of seasons,
weathered and gray.
an unasked question.
a hint of passion
left unresolved.
Time heals
in scattered pieces.
Small fragments
of a face
once kissed and
now forgotten.
Time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
and unanswered in
waking life.
This is time.
a boy full of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
offering shelter,
holding words.
Time hasn’t moved,
only the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
This is time.
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with
fearful intensity.
a gift given by time,
Only by time.
When I was a child, I copied
the way you moved
and I would ask,
What should I call you?
I tried to find
a word I hadn’t
learned yet,
a word beyond
what a child could understand.
It was something unfamiliar,
Now, as an adult, I still
find myself asking,
What should I call you?
There are no gestures now.
I don’t understand
That’s what it means to grow older.
This is a shadow,
and this, too,
is part of life.
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.
the thin
smoke curled.
It rose from the chimney,
just so.
the wind carried the scent of
your hair
and with it
the colors of evening.
snow melts
geese fly overhead
their wings
a steady pattern
they call out to each other
as they continue their journey
heading toward a destination
and leaving another place
questions linger
questions fade
the steady pattern of wings
the scent of skin
soft light falls gently
across an arched
body
that shifts
beneath my touch
onebreathpoetry.com 