Few things in life
feel as divine as
forgiveness.

To be told
that I am worthy
of a new start,
feels miraculous.

For all my mistakes,
I am not without hope.

I confess,
I do not know if I will make it.
The road ahead is long.
My time here is short.

I have heard
that the end of each journey
is just the start of another.
I hold these words closely
as I walk into the encroaching night.

I no longer love you,
but in recollection
I would still use
as many words as before.

A heaving dog struggles to its feet.
Streaks of
the sun,
egg yolk,
lemonade,
coalesce in foam.
I look it in the eye
as it limps away.

awake,
i drift about.

the touch of moonlight
imbues all
with a haziness.

everything is dream-like.
it seems as though
to grasp for something
is to reach through it.
the world truly is ethereal,
what was seconds ago
may no longer be in a few moments.
do you know of those
who walked the same steps
that i now trace?

how loosely put together it all seemed.
looking back on it now,
to have been together
at the same place
was a chance of a lifetime.

i ponder,
how many more lives should i live
to meet them all again
in that same place.

i worry, the longer i live
the more of them i shall forget.
moments pressed out of memory
like the coming morning
erasing the night.

i spend more time
thinking of writing poems
than writing poetry.

it strikes me as rather odd,
as most things require only
the act of doing it for it to be done.
paradoxically,
when one thinks about what should be written,
one can no longer grasp
what it is they had even intended to write.

and so i pick small details;
that is all i can do.
and i layer them, one atop another.
perhaps among my many poems
is the one single poem
i had meant to write.

my favourite description of love
comes from a curt confession from bukowski:
"love is a dog from hell".

what more does one want to know?
if one has felt love,
and i mean,
really felt it;
suffered for it;
felt the brunt of despair;
known the sleepless nights;
the restless nights;
the doubt;
the belief;
the constant flip flop
between the two;
between heartbreak and happiness;
the will to endure all sadness;
the knowledge that such strength
will only bring about sadness;
the horror of seeing in real time
love end
from the eyes of another;
to have been crushed by a weight
which could leave you without air
for years
and yet oddly
still have the presence of mind
to look back on it with tenderness;
to know that lust and love
are entirely separate;
and one needs only a memory
to keep the embers alive.

then i believe
a dog from hell
sums it up rather nicely.