And she says no. The cream light
under her back porch’s awning collects
in her tears. She slides her toes
within the tangle of grass and
weeds beneath us as we sit
in damp folding chairs. Fogfruit
wanders amongst the webbings
on my feet with soft, upward strokes.
I echo myself again in hopes
of tapering the night.
Can I leave?
And she says no. Fogfruit
under her damp folding chair slides
in her tangle of grass and weeds. She echoes
soft, upward strokes
beneath us as we sit
in the cream light. The night
wanders amongst her back
porch’s awning with myself again.
I taper the webbings of my feet
in hopes of collecting her tears.
Can I leave?
and she says no; fogfruit still
between my toes
I worked with my word-crafting for this particular piece. Both stanzas use the same words yet are arranged in a different order to explore the possibilities of multiple meanings of the nouns, verbs, and adjectives throughout the work. I'm especially fond of the use of fogfruit, a small bramble flower/**** that I discovered growing around a fire-pit at a good friend's house back in 2011. It brings a sense of mysticism not only with it's imagery, but also with the name itself, becoming one of my favorite words to date.
This poem is part of "Three Hallucinations of Love," written at the end of 2015 and set to music by Isaac Lovdahl for Tenor Voice and Piano. Check out the entire work at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAdFHWacqiM