We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

The leaves fell gently, golden
on the first day
of our autumn,

while the past crackled
beneath our feet,
swept away, forgotten.

Your camera stored our moments,
caught the snowflakes,
froze us in time.

And when they were nearly frostbit,
your hands found home
entwined with mine.

But just when spring returned
my fear formed clouds
of acid rain -

I only knew how
much I'd lost when
silence fell again.

Clear as the summer sky,
I knew that we would
have to part,

so I pressed your final flower
into the notebook
of my heart.

-

The forest clearing
of our autumn
holds nothing at all

but a whispered wish
in golden winds
as the leaves gently fall.

from space, hurricanes look innocent cotton *****
with an eye hole revealing their true path of destruction

in space, physics tells us black holes absolutely call
compressing, even thought, out of existential deduction

through space, this universe bends and folds with blacksmith's maul
sending star sparks parsecs into web's construction

where subspace entanglements show self and other fall
as one liminal singularity within this carnal carnival unction

-cec

You said "no way it can't be done"
you've never seen the power of one

When the fire was lit to drive me more
I called on God with all  that lay before

It started with a spark to get it going
They look and asked "what is she doing"

I did it for the one that needed a voice
The innocent one who they said had no choice.

They called  me stubborn and even a pain
I don't mind for  I'll do it again.

Fiber optic nerves
wires that fill walls, floors and
ceilings of abandoned and new
constructions of residential
and commercial buildings in Luzon,
Detroit, Orlos, and places in Spain and Russia.

Meanwhile intrepid distracted denials
of wireless connectivity, fills the air.
Imagine the number and speed of attachments,
connections, cravings of How are you?
How may I help you today? Is there anything else
you need?

Nature is still the same
Going out of balance, histories and herstories
swept under rug after rug.
This chosen form, inbound
provided with the only blue planet.
Now showing nothing is ever enough,
no matter what has been
already sacrificed in the past
and is being sacrificed at present:
The shifting tides assuring him
of his place while the
stormy dunes of deserts welcoming
her stillness.

Sudden improper cracks, thunder
and rain arrive on the proudest pavement
tonight surrounding the metropolis.
Inconvenient walls and static downpour
over once promising singing symphonic spaces
on coffee tables and hang-outs.

Some weary commuters take shelter
under random roofs, some
thinking of flowers on graves.
Lovers of seasons, recalling silence
and chaos like clandestine letters scattered
among shadows of cities on overdrive,
unheard and unspoken.

Provincial buses can no longer enter the metro.
Romances on the highway,
under duress tonight.
A gift of mad craftsmen
to privileged warrior classes.
Paying debts that have already
been long paid off.

The sun sets into midnight.
Heavy rain in ink black, like a
deafening incoherence from a severed arm
of a body of a messenger sent
through a battlefield. The pavements
exhales humidity,lifting
a veil towards the red clouds.