In the underlying layers of green
The perennials begin to dream
In the dying scent that sweeps the air
The autumn showing signs of wear
Between a dying rose and being caught
In an eclectic mix of design and thought
Presence isn't felt
though days pass
& glaciers melt.
time is hypothetical
unless each tic is eyed
- highly unethical.
The ebb & flow of life
deception at its best
realization is the knife
that cuts the moments thread.
those words i say
loud enough to convince myself
that things will be ok
are breathless hollow echoes
that fall heavily to the floor
like the shed skin of a vibrant life
still i hold them close
like tattered remnants of love letters
that i fold into a lifeless heart
hoping it will spring to brilliant life
and resuscitate my passions
igniting a dream now grown dull
but like the ruins of affluent times
the hopeful words i speak
are simply overtaken and swallowed
by the depth of reality’s indifference
and so my fatigued voice falls silent
and my paper heart crumbles into dust
A white flourishing flower swirls
in my cup and forms the first curve of a beginning.
I am holding on to the end of your kite.
Running —throwing dust up in the air—
We are four years old, our age smaller than
the letters in our name.
Last summer i cut my hair shorter, it hit the
back of my neck like a memory, forgotten,
awoke from its sleep and spirals out into existence again.
Outside the peach trees shed their flowers
revealing fruit and i thought of candles and
wanted to be sun-kissed for the first time.
I remember writing our names in candle wax —that
summer on the balcony two letters swelter in the heat,
a brief history of wax pooled at our feet —I felt
finite for the first time in my life.
my first try at a zuihitsu