Month: August 2015

light leafs the tree’s candle

–

a star left behind, in every face

the moon has shown,

somewhere itself 

–

among swirling planets of jellyfish 

–

zodiacal encyclopedias light up 

the resystematic universe, shower 

tentacle tailed meteor flickers

–                                                

                                               raindrops

caught in time’s flux,

–

pale blue shadowdust, whispers

of what is missed

–

a child’s language, left out

in the watery black night 

–

to unbound a cosmos,

–

speckle clad in pearlescent clams,

amid the curdled phosphorescence 

of our silver river’s straw wintered way

–

a depth met both beyond and beneath

oceans that keep her lost and dotting 

the restless chaos of the cryptic stars,

–

touching a profile in the constellations 

she can know longer reach or see

in word’s drawing memory 

–

but find somewhere, above 

the ebb of fatherless moonlight

–

all the letters written back

tangerine tangle of flesh        

found its fontanelle,

felt where it begins

and pierced through

the soft sacrament of skin

–

pulp oozes a patina

along the driftwood grain-

braid of my father’s hands 
–

peeling quietly 

out of the past 

–

a piece for me 

–

and now I sit, in-

habit of an aimless gaze
the glistening eye of the sea

to dissolve and disperse

the melancholy of reality

–

so that what I feel wafts 

                                           in sound 

and returns back in my hands

–

a lattice of fibrous memory,

–

and this skin of flesh

peeled back 

strands infinite

when the world whirls

in front of the frame you still

and in the doorway, you stand

–

a pupil torn within your floating eye

–

the nerve of sound, discordant,

whole, like the severed lives of a worm

breaking the compost zest, with mirror heads

–

senses elixed into the negative

unblinked by the light its held to,

–

the colors of yourself body the air

around your outline, but you are myopic

in the sweating slink of your seeing skin,

–
a slow trickle of fastidious sap, down

the bark crust arch of your palm spine

–
a segment of the sequence of life

peeping out of the rain spattered soil’s

house of forgotten presence

–
you quiver on the surface

of two depths, like a finger

dissolving in the line it stems

–
for the first time, the circle’s

memory of its beginning

–

in a girl, who pinned

the wriggling squiggle of a flatworm

–

and watched it grow like cuttings

of the old woman who welcomes her here

–

in time’s tongued tied gaze-

–
the ocean

–
you look to so long, you become