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  Feb 12 Mermaid
there are things set in motion

that've come a long, long way.

motion as finite as matter, in an

infinite standstill.

to see you through eventualities

that softly caress your eyelids open.

to the unbelievable impact of love's

recognition, shimmering fringes open

a figure to dance its formation.

in your fateful eyes.
this is goodbye

keep it.

keep it in
your heart
until it burns

keep it in your
mind until it wraps
around your every
waking thought

keep it close to
your skin
until it blisters
every last inch
of your flesh

keep it anywhere, my lover
my trickster, my fool

just keep it.
  Feb 12 Mermaid
Madeleine Felix
A lipstick-stained envelope
Mailed to your front door.
A collection of sonnets
Written on thin paper.
An old map hanging by the corners
Fraying at the edges
Guiding you to here
And there.
A lantern blossoming in flames
Untouched by the mortal eye
And unloved by the iridescent wings.
My collection.
My home.
My requiem.
Feedback is more than welcome.
  Feb 12 Mermaid
Madeleine Felix
i exist beyond metaphors
there are things even poems
cannot tell.
  Feb 8 Mermaid
Let me touch you,
Said the earth to sky,
And the cloud settled in,
And on the mountain she lie.
They spoke of their lives,
Of lost loves and of fears,
And when the sun called her back,
All that remained were her tears.
Maybe you've seen them,
In the winter or fall,
When the mountain is barren,
And the sky comes to call,
Be it wishful thinking,
Or a trick of the light,
But I swear that I see it,
When the sun hits just right,
A smile of contentment,
On that old mountains face,
As he lays down to slumber,
In his lovers embrace.
  Feb 8 Mermaid
The darkness filtered in across the Wind River Range,
Drifting through the ancient spaces of Arapaho plains,
And I, still a child of sixteen,
Huddled in a sleeping bag,
Staring up at a vast black sky,
Patterned with the scattered dancing
Of a million stars.
And the wind, it felt like freedom
And the mountains they were beating
With some kind of barely audible drum.
But I could feel it in my bones,
Like the faintest whisper:
“This is home.”

And so I let the darkness
Fall all around me.
And later, in the depths of an Arapaho ceremony,
I felt my skin cascade
My ribs break
And suddenly, from my ***** heart,
I just knew how to pray.

That opening, it never closed,
So that, even now,
The dust of sacred things
Clings tightly to my soul.
And in the blindness of the crowds
I desperately chase it,
Through the veils of common day
I find new ways to trace it.

That light.

It is there, you know. Can you see it?

When just born, we can.
I see it in my children’s eyes,
The lingering of a love
Stronger than all the love of man,
So devoid of fear, unfaltering, pure,
So beautiful that when I hold them
My heart breaks apart in tears.

And I don’t want to lose it.

That light.

All my life, I’ve sought the broken, held the strays,
Caressed the wounded spaces,
Tried so hard to mend the pieces,
Trailing blood along the way.
And the blood it bleeds from a place of honesty;
Yet, selfishly, washes away the layers of protection
People create
Exposing them to me
Feeding my soul the light that I so desperately seek.

And now, you.
You, burning with the same light that I’ve always known,
And I, like a child again, facing the Arapaho moon,
I can feel these sacred things move
Between us
Like remembrances of some other home.
From William Wordsworth's "Intimations on Immortality:"
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
  Feb 8 Mermaid
The sun strays
as its ray
fall *******
the yard that
is long gone,
mud dried
to the point of dust,
green grass
a thing of the past.

No one remembers
what a lawn chair was,
or when
the summer went
so slow
as the old folks
sat in the yard
and yacked on
about some thing
us younglings
didn’t have
any interest in.

The flower bed
is long dead,
stone blocks
now play border
to a wasteland
of forgotten
garden dreams.

The old occupants
have long since
and all that is left
are memories
and even they
will not last.
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