That Which Fades, That Which Does Not
That which fades:
Words fade first,
fluting and ephemeral as they escape
a lover’s clement tongue.
Lost in the inattentive mind, rationalized,
they fade until sterile and white
as a surgeon’s cotton.
The watercolor on my wall.
pastoral and warm in the morning,
all three milk cows at the barn,
bleaches to near-white by mid-day
but stands like a blank gravestone all night.
That which does not fade:
The coins in my pocket are polished by use,
mirror faces and facades,
these are misery’s sharpest scouts.
I lie on my empty bed
and feel the bulk of your memory sagging in beside me
You set the hook with our last kiss.
Can’t you feel me pulling against you?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Living with cats, as I do, I sometimes try to see this world from their perspective. I watch the chickadees with bloodlust. I approach water with suspicion. I allow myself to become mesmerized by all manner of spinning and swinging baubles. I play with my food. I struggle only with being as snotty as a cat. I am unwilling to take a swipe at my roommates just because they walk in front of me in the hall or in front of the refrigerator.