A Glance
Emotion drives the mobile neck
If only i have not met your eyesand pity i have not disclosed anything.
I would not have knocked my forehead thrice
gently, silently cursing
shit,
shit,
shit.
The Sea—
The Waves—
the wrecking waters
pushing through a fall
over resting sedimentary fortresses.
When in my strifes, I also fall.
The Breeze—
of which nerves intend for pain
no longer understand
the touch of flowing coldness
Or the eyes can interpret
the blinking stars in haunted nights
or the inner awareness
admonishing tears to fall
Or the last time I touched your hand
Four years ago, there, watching over us
The Hale-Bopp—
the portents brow
no longer arches wonderfully
over moon’s face
When I let you go It was mistaken for a guiding star.
and the rain marked all the benches red
with golden letters embroidered with silver petals
in remembrance of the dead
And my constant missing are but musings of the sky
waiting for comets to chance by
in remembrance of your eyes.
