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For 20 years now, I've watched
the long, slow slant of sunlight
as it cuts low across the neighbor's roof
and slices along the flower beds.
This winter, however, the deck is new
and casts unfamiliar, rounded shadows
that will march into my next twenty years,

so that one December, or a June--
the sun will be high then,
the shadows not as long or low--
I may again, at 74,
sit here in this corner,
the rounded, marching shadows
no longer unfamiliar
and ponder 40 years
of eternal slicing shadows.
Will we meet in shady groves;
Upon a hill? Perhaps in morning.
In hidden vines of deepest green… Does day break?
We spool in canopies as the world beyond awakes;
Cocoons of fragrant freshness. So here I sit and of you I wish.

Will we meet in times of woe;
Under streets beveiled? Perhaps in mourning.
The well-worn cobbles ache terribly, my dear, let us go inside
A yellow cigarette crushed against the glass; I burn for tenderness and see
It in your eye. So there you sway and beneath you I lay.

Will your face be one I know;
Past veils of spidersilk? Perhaps, my darling.
This well-worn world aches terribly, let us make our own
From shady grove to comforts home; an empire on the hill.
Lifetime passes in an eyeblink. So with you I hide
Til our tender world’s first sunrise.
The stars look down
And the night becomes day
Morning people stir the day alive
And life begins its ponderous journey
Sally gives me a wink goodbye
She knows I’ll be back tonight to lose the winnings
But this time you’ll be wrong Sally girl
Though you’ve probably heard that a million times
But I’ll not be back
That’s the discipline
To simply walk away
Never look back
The morning breeze awakens the tired senses
The walk home begins a new journey
She’s walking towards me
One of the morning people
Probably walked this road a thousand times
I stop in front her
She looks bemusingly alarmed
I look like the jilted groom
I hand her a hundred pound note, and walk off
She’ll walk a bit faster now, convinced I’m nuts, and it’s a forgery
Later on, she’ll show it to her friends
They’ll tell her that’s what gamblers do
They think it’ll bring them more luck
Not with me
Winning or losing, it didn’t matter
For years the night was my friend
My savior
Then it became my nightmare
Something else to conquer
Time gets you through all
Tomorrow a new challenge begins
I become one of the morning people
It’s been a long time
Hope they’re ready for me.
Body is pensive, eyes are cold.
He opens his arms wide with great intent, but I callously greet him.
I drift to sleep where I dream of me, lost in the woods with no one in sight.
I like it here, where the birds don't sing, and the sun doesn't shine, and you are nowhere to be found.
When I wake, I hope for an empty embrace and an intangible smile.
But there you are, warm and sleepy, only a kiss away.
Body is pensive, eyes are cold.
Daisies grow under my bed every time you kiss me goodnight.
I can smell their floral scent as they creep around my bed, trying to wrap me up in their dark green stems.
The petals, they fall, all around the outline of your fragile, milky body.
I cannot touch you, for your skin burns of lust and passion, and you make me feel as though you are too good to be true.
I doubted your existence until the daisies blossomed, because I feared you walked out of my sleeping mind, to fall right into my arms.
The daisies remind me that you were my dream,
and you came true.
 Aug 2016 Rainey Birthwright
DSD
Like all other cities in the clouds
this one is often wet and always loud.

Its air heavy with the sweat of labour
and light with the soothing lunar caress.

Its bricks, the stuff of dreams,
raised by giants, manifested in concrete.

Its people the dreamers.
There shoulders drenched in hope

Walk with weeping umbrellas to the sky
in painful black soles...

...Past snow globe dreamlands
of nebular realms and rainbow twilights

Shielded in walls of nothingness thick
to keep the fantasies in and the phantoms out.

And she prances on the grey greasy pavement
blowing bubbles of soap that brave the rain.

Her chin - the sun.
Her breath - the monsoon winds.
Her curls - the streams in the woods.
Her forehead - the promised land to each raindrop.
And her soul - the bliss that lies in the space between worlds.
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