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inside my head a piano plays
chopin’s aeolian harp.
in the fullness of this air
the dust sweeps off my bookshelf, in grand fashion
oscillating in the light,
the same sunlight, which blooms over my face
turning me gold, then white, then back to flesh.
past the the sound of passing cars,
the open window with its mouth full of cold air,
there is a bird cascading from the sky
it is gold, alive
then white in mourning
then flesh once more before turning to
dust.

what do we do with this light
that places all its fullness on us?
shall we dance as dust does,
then settle like a memory of touch and
swither in death as we do in life?

let it be known that i was listening to Chopin's Aeolian Harp when writing this (which doesn’t mean that this poem is great, just that i had a good time writing it).
Midnight Rain Oct 15
‘i hope i die in autumn’

                                      ‘what a morbid thought’

‘it’s a beautiful season to depart from
one life to the next’

                     ––––––––––––––––––––

the last time i cried for someone
else i prayed that God only gave me
my own sadness to choke on
because i couldn’t take yours away,

and i know that helplessness cannot be helped
—that we are here briefly,
not to take the pain away
but to suffer together;
to become mirrors, unfiltered reflections of what we really are

and i’m sorry that such
thoughts even exist
i wish there only blooming roses
in all our autumn deaths;
what a season it is to be with you though
and depart from one sadness
to the next.

Midnight Rain Oct 12
destiny is something
i cannot escape from;
a message came to me in the dead of night,
held my hands in prayer,
and recited two verses of a poem
that lingered in my dream;
              i awoke, breathless,
in rapturous grief, fleeing from what
i thought would consume me entirely.
             i left a desert, a poem disappearing in the distance.
some nights it visits me
shimmering under my eyes,
a memory full of oases washes up to the shore
of my consciousness.
hands veiled in gold threads,
my name written within their reach,
rush over me.  
how heartless it is to open  
        my eyes only now,
        to watch the poem vanish letter by letter,
––all my prayers turning to dust.
what will search for me, now that
i have left everything behind?
Midnight Rain Sep 24
you come hurtling from the sky and
your arrival brings forth the life you had
before you met your end.
you came to give the rivers a reason
to rush to oceans;
you came in fists full of
a softness
you didn’t know how to mold.
              ––but somewhere in this descent
you also learned how to find peace
and so when you crashed, at long last,
your sigh of relief washed over the earth;
your death was a moment of life
and this moment unwraps like a final act of kindness,
like a last form a prayer takes before
departing from the lips.

it’s been a while since i used a rain metaphor.
Midnight Rain Sep 18
erase my face
erase my name, call me
nameless
and then send me to the wind,
throw me out to sea;
erase these hands and
              leave them soulless;
my whole life escaped in
trying to disappear
             ––what an ache,
what a waste, what a regret,
I should've just lived instead.

you dip your head back against the sunset trying to forget what is rushing back to you
but the memories come
like bellowed clouds full of smoke,
it is all too suffocating,
all too consuming.
    and so your promises fly out the window of your car and
you swear someday you’ll
move far away from this ash-filled town.
but the clouds are in the air and they
laugh and they laugh,
oh, how they laugh.

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