Saturday, July 30, 2011

on battleship hill

It fades like the dream of a great nation after daylight finds it, like proof the whole works were ground down. The new day finding the world full of steam and fan blades, dry towels and intimate tides. The moment drawn down to salt and gleam, all the participant stars absent or aloof. That rush of a wind plummeting to the earth, that notion of sky as a verb. All gone but that smile brushed soft against your lips. All gone but that glance of breath and light.

Where did the music bury its festooned dead? Where does the rhythm arrive when hidden with raw bones? Such a thirst as the soil drying in your throat. Such a thirst as rain returned to myth. Your flesh frank and drizzled with sweat. Your gaze that permafrost of every absolute. History and longing so achingly entwined.

This comes from the other side of understanding. That gulf bridged diminishing so slowly the lessons learned on that road. Skies wheel constellations and bird above our dull grasping. The earth throws stones beneath our sleeping feet. The voice of enduring longing inevitably the bitter dose swallowed. The cry in the night eventually only a haunting recalled. Love strives sleepless, clawing through the dark.

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