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