2d Emily B

Moon, blow your light
my way, but don't cut my time

Let me dream just a little longer
while my eyelids shine
in the dark starlight

Let the ceremony end slow
back in my old home,
not in a cold forest near the sea

I want to see again
those three rivers that flow
together and listen to a woman
singing to a child
in her mild mannered way

But in spite of the night
and my wishes
something keeps creeping
past me in my sleep
like numbers of smoke

It was you, dark woman,
walking across the room bare
footed turning on the air conditioner
in the winter, a pair of scissors
in the folds of your robe.

  4d Emily B

Imagine we are home
and not lonely, imagine
our love which once cut
through strange waters
like longboats through hearts
not slow and heavy
from the moss of fear
we are here and not here
nights in our land are sad
the risings of the moon
are like sores we have given
our women, and we cannot sleep
for what we dream
the enemy will do, like filling
our children's throats with rocks
and place them in shallow swamps
where they will rise up
to tell us of fish with odd shapes
and men with torches
coming in from the sea
up to the beach on a black night
throwing open the gates
to our dying city.

Every moment in time
is delicate
ready to shatter

Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found

I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was

But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land

Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun

So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music

Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.

  Nov 24 Emily B
Ilion gray

Unlearn what you know of history
Climb atop the highest eldest tree
And read the palms of its leaves,
Then Shamelessly sing aloud
every song
they told you not to sing,
Listen to the stories of souls as they make their home in the spaces of your mind, you were never allowed to go
they speak through shrieks of sparrows
streaking through clouds,
speak through the sound of those clouds breaking,
Cold and
low as the growl
of the darkest streets in Brooklyn the concrete aching
praying for morning,
Then eternally waiting,
They speak through the silence
of flowers living in pots,
resuscitating the bedroom of stale burnt air through dirty half closed windows
cumulus clouds of smoke
Remembering that we were never children.

Then just ly down there..
Until you feel that "feeling".....

Tonight is dreamless

screaming in the unheard language of origin,
I am here

Emily B Nov 24

if only I could
up like the armadillo
when i'm sleeping

there would be no soft underside
to be pierced by my nightmares

and maybe I would wake

if I could forget again
all the things
that I have remembered
and all the things
that I have not remembered

maybe there would be
no nightmares
in the first place

  Oct 3 Emily B

Last night I dreamed
that I opened a box
and inside was another dream.

And I cried like a little child
away from home for the first time,
a boy who’s lost the one
and only true love in his life.

I walked out and reached for the dark
but it drew back like the sea
into its infinite shell.

Beside the night lay the words
for the day to come
and they too were weeping.

Sometimes all I want is to know
that everything will be Ok
when the sun comes up.

Lie to me if you must,
show me a cutout and call it a rose,
I can no longer tell right from wrong
or even if it’s necessary.

I was done listening to the stars
and the sound of the night birds;
it took silence to understand
each other as human.

It got us nowhere
but away from ourselves;
and then, once more dreaming
together again.

  Sep 30 Emily B

The stones are tumbling
from the mountain river-bed
clear down here to where I stand
on the sandy shore I see,
making a sound
like a high forest crying,
where we once stood together
with what seemed more
than the time needed
just for talking,
you and I, we reached
for one another,
and released each other,
passing parting gifts
two halves of a quartz heart
broken wide, and open
nature's locket
like the part I still carry
heavy handed in my pocket.

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