Sometimes I miss you,
even when you are next to me.
Sometimes your words drift across
my face like a light breeze, barely noticed.
Times are somewhere when you dont see me.
You stare into my eyes but I have hidden the flecks
of silver, like some old miner squirreling them away
for fear they may be stolen.
Once when we touched we could not feel one another.
Our palms could only remember the rough of tree bark
as we climbed to the top while we were still children.
Our hands could only recall the way the
rope slid from our grip as we swung off
into shaded summer ponds.
This time,
evening rolled around slow
like the way sunday morning comes,
quiet into the driveway.
This time I knew you.
Not unlike the way a child knows a teddy bear,
he tells it his secrets and knows they are safe.
I saw you. I saw you the way the way the sun
sees the earth, complete.
Appreciating the ice caps
as well as the tucked away beaches.
And this time, this time I felt you.
Curled up and alive inside me
as heated blood pulsing through
the heart of a madman.
And now, now I can open my eyes and give to you,
give you the silver that once upon a time I only
let you see for a moment at a time,
so long, so very long ago.
Questions often answer themselves
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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elucidation without plea
I hope I get beyond this title but transferred to such poeticism when our house's circling the calendar (to the date dot or echoically) to no longer circle the block... by my blocked preoccupied gust.
an introspectiveness themed by stares at mimeograph windows can feel contrived when without nature of each other. there's a rawness to your reference of a spark of perception excavated but not shared, standardized as not standing together if clocked to not getting it so taking it but that hypothesis can hypnotize to no use of mind. lines 6-7 I couldn't conceal from my seal. but wonder more at skin change and mirth endeavored can swing to shallow nostalgia unless giving it another go.
tethered dramatizing very interesting an evening as no longer typical cold but as dawn warmth moving in, and without young fear by substitution but you can directly feel the top excitement of thinking as seen above bird's eye view but hesitates... as my dad gave me recording of 'raindrops keep falling on my head' when I needed to know ironic strength going into foster home. but here vastness is understtod for embrace, and incredibly "And this time, this time I felt you.
Curled up and alive inside me
as heated blood pulsing through
the heart of a madman." heartwrenchingly once more joining presence of what was supposed to stay joined not only dreamily. it seems like a lot now
I look forward to resettling like this,
carolyn -
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the resettling must be once first. some things easier given when the taking hand is not seen. or hindsight being vision nested. regret often makes the fist relax but then the palm soon fills with what ifs and coulda beens.
well i hope you find your new vista and without the sting i know from back looking. mabe more snow to throw in montrose.
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I have to remind myself to see my husband through a stranger's eyes all the time.
I'm glad you can still find the spark inside. This was very poignant, and yeah...
nicely written.
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Sigh... really beautiful!
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it sounds like a love story but then again it also sounds like a childhood dream that you dont ever want to end
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