don’t break your own heart in
the digital age, a cry to the
vapor trails overhead left
in the wake of our own
-
if I stop looking in crowds
I won’t find the click of your
shutter. i haven’t been trailing
behind. I have been keeping
pace. the one thing about time
is how it passes, softly dying in our
fingertips. go ahead and reach.
-
there’s nothing confusing about your
name on my tongue. it doesn’t twist like
it used to. ankle marks and shoulder
scratches. lift your arm one more to
meet mine.
-
give it space, let it grow.
if there’s anything to learn from the moon,
you’ll know, feet pressed to the ground
once again
to start with the bitter frozen dichotomy, the belief in the
growth anew, the barren tree branches splitting and making way
for the new buds pointed skywards, placed at the roots.
to become more than the wind touching the wave, one
body, one body, to become the leaf that sweeps
to the bottom, brushed underneath
which then becomes the soil to grow again.
to walk with spring is
to listen to the birds for the first time, aware of their call
and response marks a new beginning,
a bloom of dandelions can
look like flowers to those close to the ground.
begin life anew, it is the one calling out to you.
in spring, you’ll be
different, feel the breeze tapping at your window, inviting you outside
the sun shines on your face and the buds grow, marking
one more turn of the cycle
one day I’ll disappear, and I believe it too,
to sleep under the cool curtain of indifference
only the lark will take notice
in my absences
the flowers can grow anew, only marked by the person they can’t talk to
there’s a vulnerability I
can’t afford
the one that’s raw in the darkness, healed in the light
one day I’ll get there when my heels stop
pressing pavement in search of a trail
buried by time
the world is beautiful and I want to slip inside
if only I can collapse who I am
fold into pieces stuffed in pockets or forgotten on the subway tracks
and I’ll believe it too, the words that leave my lips are truth in a sense
I’ll go if you ask me
just once more, I tell myself I’ll disappear
only if you ask
will I become the wind
no hard feelings though
I can’t pretend to know what that means for I
have never known a world to include soft feelings
only the cool
slip of fingers around indifference or the
way the sun melts the snow as it drips down sidewalk drains
circling life anew. and wasn’t it Sinatra who sang
all or nothing, at all, the voice echoes, reverberating
through base-laden stereos and
scratched records. the beautiful dumb half-life, this
treacherous majestic in-between that quells and calls
but never answers to the question
what
do you mean
if someone took a bite out of it
the clouds muddling its usual structure
and design
-
how ridiculous, to think we might reach
those that linger in the distance
just so close that we can extend our lips to
and consume.
