an endless beginning

old borders

some ancient demarcation
held history at bay
as centuries ticked by
beneath our feet
we wandered on
over bloodlines where it happened
til stilled in embrace
we can give no more


Bird dots

Distant, far off clouds
Of deadened desires
Watch face watching
It’s him again
With his quakes of the uncensored
He’d wandered deep
Into the unwandered and laid out
Under bird dots
Until the light faded
Across the forest
The prerecorded calls
If of home echoed

Sunday weights

transacted time
the shuffled pack
now fanned out
across the table laid
months, years and more
exhaled confessions
sent wires out
cracking Sunday weights
to pierce second’s
heart again
down the arm to the finger
caressing the photograph’s frame
as time retracts
dispensing it’s load
the portrait stares

continuing for the dead

surface rushes
through cracks in the night
lights up your eyes
in hiding
we are
no longer running
paused in refuge
unstuck and away
still the living
we are
continuing for the dead

the perforated fields

afternoon retractions 
molecular time
remained unmeasurable
a line walked
of scattered loves
the field observed
faces of the crowd
eyes and hearts glistening
light reflected
from golden memento
all outreaching
as the guarantees
slip the grip

evaporated sons

cracked walks
into the sun
thoughts evaporated
through conjoined loves
he followed the line
hedged to the gate
a few more steps
to the main road

out of light

historical entreaties
the shape of last desires
fingers brushing the blankets
memories of a glance
now turned
the glinted eyes
its return delivered
repictured briefly
he leans his head back
the mote disappears
out of it’s light
and is gone

only them

the smoke escaped her mouth
like a waterfall
without gravity
the bell of the town clock
rang the gold of evening
silence now re-enveloping
she’d watch him
light another
reverberated between them mutely
engulfing and depositing
out of reach for now
for now they reached
to embrace
future memories forming
for only them

the rippling void

twilight steps he took
away turning
feeling the flick of the pages
the tip of the index
strumming over deep in the pocket
the notebook
again and again
the brush of the pages
again and again
he contemplated scraping
the paint off
from his portrait
again and again
but he stole out
walking away
catching instead
at the top of the hill
the weakening remnants
of love
and the rippling void