*
We were ready to lay dormant
until the next spring.
Rolling beneath cold clouds
waking the landscape’s frost.
When you found him in orbit about,
a nearer moon.
An unexpurgerated diary entry,
about how woman lay boiling.
A small body of water
and all of it’s creature’s within.
Brought to a stand-still
while the tide’s ripped.
Transforming the water
into a solid sculpture,
about an ever changing world,
still but alive.
To read your work is to know that
not all revolve around the sun.
As you orbit a nearer moon
upon a distant shore.
And his impact is dramatic,
as the moon rises and moon sets.
His height, his trajectory,
his monthly phases
thinning your full breasts
the scythe of a crescent.
A dizzy dissent across
the cosmos in ellipses.
Earth casts a shadow
overbears the surface
the journey that changes
us most of all.
Reveal the beginning,
at the culmination of
a tragic end.
Gravity lifts the water.
Resulting in the rise and fall
of rustic lung.
Sand stands still,
and the creatures cast,
adapt to this
intertidal wedlock
burrow along the coast
Await dual windows & feed fast.
Sheltered within
shore stone cracks.
A woman lay wasted,
you do.
Evaporation run-off warmed water.
Mist seen rising after
morning dew collapse.
Transpiration a phantom
passes through pores
in the atmosphere,
and tiny leaves.
Spring time awakens,
a nearer moon dotes
fertile, nubile,
flung off a surface
crater, cast satellite,
another coastal accumulation.
Another woman lay bare there,
you know.
Close to the warm ground the moisture
is invisible to the human eye,
such fine steam,
colliding as a nimbus cloud
above the coastal highline.
Grow heavy,
groan,
and rain
Gravity brings it
back down to Earth.
Sensitive animals dash,
flee, a marathon
You’re almost out of breath
Earth casts a shadow
overbears the surface
But it is the journey that changes us
most of all.
A bud blossoms at the beginning,
befallen your tragedy’s end
Our time passing as it elapses.
Pages yellow and your dreams
espouse their tender vulnerabilities,
forever cast infamous,
poetic masonry.
–six pm | *the super slow motion of yearning
{This poem is dedicated to Anaïs Nin}
◬ɼ† ₪ ₱ʘʓʇɹʎ 