This fragile heart
sometimes bursts into
the tiniest shards
                  of infinity
clear as crystal light
yet empty
as an ocean, waterless
longing
to be filled and filled
over and over
as I would fill you
to the brim
overflowing with
enough life
and love to heal
a thousand
                aching moons

the silvers of the night
thin in the autumn air.

surreal beneath the
bridges of time

the ghosts of the leaves
shiver as they fall.

the tide reaches out,
spins as the waves give up their
ghosts,

the tide with its thunder and its rain
spins back as the waves tremble,

your love, pressed to my lips,
a song of winter waves.

words drift away unfettered
from whence they came,
passing like undreamed clouds
– pragmatic eyes to the sky
   in a searching stare –
unsought thoughts disappearing hence
a fog bow fading into sunlight

there are days when
   it comes out in my silence
there are days when
   it falls down in my tears:

muse – muted in poet's pause,
heart and soul whispers
  laid bare unwritten
  behind parsing eyes
disregarded words let loose,
        ungarnered
the way low hanging fruit
falls benign — unharvested —

   shortsighted  insight
   from a bird's eye view
silently fermenting traces
and unfiltered memories
come and go unheeded words,
discarded like the passing
   time of our lives

at times  it's  ludicrous
   to follow down
lingering footprints
left behind callous:
when the shoe won't fit;
slogging across eroding
time-worn stepping stones
scattered on this twisted line
these feet have been walking down,
trying to make a getaway
   from myself

walking away from the memories
like so many indelible footprints to escape
– while dreaming stardust into stars
   in nameless constellations –
reaching out from the inside,
   site unseen,
   trying to experience
   the empirical shape
   of  stifling  silence
   in a theatre made by chance

distilling the gifts and burdens
of trying to live a worthy life
   only I'll see...


harlon rivers ... September 27, 2018

autumn melts the skies
her oranges like
bright rouge,
her yellows a
half hidden sun.

the fires of a waking
world, blown by
the branches of the
wind,

forgotten, an
ending sweeter
than the last
fragments of day
that dream as they
fall, caught by the
torn breezes that
scatter the leaves
westward and skyward
like little ribbons hurrying
along a once summer path.

The thoughts we have in passing
manifest in our reality,
I say "There's not enough time,"
fading on the edge of sleep,
fighting against the time I cannot
be with you, feel you close to me.
You reply "There will be,"
comforting my wanting heart
or maybe yours,
and I finally slip away.

These days pass easily with you,
life is no match for how well
you ground me,
and suddenly what I've been striving for,
what I want for my future
has begun to make sense -
I've been driving toward it for so long,
wanting, burning up in my desires,
without knowing for what, who
and why.

Something about this feels different
than all else that has come before,
this is not an insecure love, no,
neither of us wonder,
we know how our nights of today
and tomorrows will end,
always with you and me
and then you
and
I.