12/3/22

When snow drapes the world,
I hear the echo of wings,
their flight a melody
I can no longer touch.

When the air fills with song,
I see the quiet fall of white,
its silence a ghost
pressed into memory.

I am always leaning—
toward what was,
what might be,
what should have been.

The moment,
no matter how it gleams,
slips through my hands
like water,
like wind.

---

12/5/24

Perhaps this is why I gather fragments,
why the glint of frost on a blade of grass
holds my gaze longer than the expanse of snow.
Why I follow the tilt of a bird’s head,
its small movements louder than the sky.

The whole of any moment
is too vast, too sharp—
a cacophony of light and sound
I cannot hold.

But in the minutia,
I find a silence I can bear,
a single thread
to keep my mind from unraveling.

Perhaps this is how I survive the present:
by breaking it into pieces

small enough to love, maybe,


small enough to leave.

In another life,
perhaps it was
you and I—
there, we laughed
a little more,
held on
a little longer.

But here,
we’re fragments,
familiar faces,
strangers in the heart.

We spoke of other lives,
but, I wonder—
do you see
we’re bound to this one,
with only one chance
to learn our way through?

I was the crescent moon, a sliver in the night,
Yet in his gaze, I found a radiant light.
He saw me whole, beyond my fragmented part,
Love's alchemy, merging soul to heart.


In phases of shadows, incomplete and bare,
His eyes unveiled the beauty hidden there.
A crescent's curve, a tender, silver arc,
Yet in his vision, a masterpiece embarked.


His love, a symphony, the missing tune,
Transforming fragments into a whole monsoon.
I, the crescent moon, in his orbit swayed,
Completeness found in the love we portrayed.


Through waxing and waning, love remained,
A cosmic dance where wholeness was gained.
In his embrace, the crescent found its grace,
Love's magic turning fragments into an embrace.

Shadows rise to confront the sun,
stationary swirls continue to twirl.
The grey of which is hardly seen,
within those fragments of duality.

Pearls found from darker nights,
gleam direct in this moonlight.
Black and white are convexed,
whilst time itself is condensed.

Golden opportunities appease
those who can view with clarity.
So step aside and think freely,
to see the repeated disconnect.

I wish to get out of the tutelary purlieu because I fear of turning into fragments on its spontaneous explosion by time factor.