September’s Benevolence

There is a breeze
Grass soaking wet-
An ocean gossamer of all things Autumn and old
All things ethereal and elusive,

Gleaming nectarous in some distant bliss
Is the moon and we hold hands
Attached by habit “Mother leave me be”
I say halfheartedly half-wanting half-hopeful,
Tonight will extend into forever,
I say, I say but having swallowed the blackberry briers
My mouth only bleeds

She’s silver flowing and still
Dressed in spiderwebs,
Shadows casting such presence transcendent,
Perpetually followed closely by an entourage,
And she speaks to me coagulating
“If you want to leave,
I will take all of your guilt”

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Transition; Lack Of

The sun sets at 10
And we do not notice
The sun sets at seven
And still, we do not notice

Until it is summer
Until Autumn
Until radiant energy is bleeding
From our non-radiant palms

Skin inseparable from earth
Earth inseparable from skin
Soil upturned as if raining in reverse
Until daylight is a dream
And we start going to sleep earlier and earlier
With no concrete reason why
We just wake up and look at our hands
We just wake up and look at our hands

The Endlessness of a Moment

There’s that chill again, there
It is there
It is and there
It goes,
There
It goes,

These grass beds have turned yellow,
Tender sun setting beneath our flesh,

Warmth running
Away and the trees fracture
Chase after waning daylight

But it’s too late, but
It’s too late

We blush and their hearts
Beating abundant bleed
Blue and fall like
Snowflakes or
Gravestones

Upon A Slow Moving Afternoon

Colour upon sweet linen,
Silhouette hallucinations softly
Cycled through cotton bed sheets

“Ethereal breeze
Ethereal breeze with such transient motion
What stories unspoken
Must you murmur today?”
I asked aglow,

Inseparable from what rippling waves
Of August’s late sun-dream,
From a few feet nearby
In the nearly overwhelming tenderness,
There came response:

Cedar thickets collided then evanesced-
A moving image of me young and carefree
Kayaking,
Drifting, drifting downstream
And I get so carried away
I paddle all the way to Dave’s house

Not Far From Maplewood

There were those trees in your backyard
Wild cedar growing in the gully
Near your woodshed basking in decrepit beauty
Situated above as if being the river’s shepherd

After we discovered that tea
Was literally just plants and hot water

Those cedar trees glowed silky
Smooth a hypnotic amber- such honey slipped
So efficiently down our throats coated
Our intestines and every breath
We spoke

The colour of those years
Between ten and seventeen
Was cedar’s milk

Crafting bows from broken boughs,
Using those freshest of buds as crow’s
Nest, survey flood basin’s reign
Blueprints written in sand script
Loamy soil serving as scroll,
We would attack at noon
And be back before dinner,

Then football season came
And those trees illuminated
In Autumn’s adolescent snow
Caught more passes than your father did

And every Spring
When those rusty red braids of hair
Caught fire releasing forth a flurry
Of gold we’d stand in awe,
Wondering where their children would land
And if we’d ever
Get the chance to meet them

As We Are Simply Scar Tissue

Bruises shaded deep
Berry blue, flax vermilion and setting-sangria-washed-aglow
Imprinted upon bare-feet walking
Cautiously then erratic
To catch a frisbee or for just,
The joy of moving faster through space
Gliding like a swallow swift
Through softened saccharine air
Swooping gracefully
Grass bearing weight graciously upon returning to Earth

Battered soles of joy bring forth a topography map
And in an instant of rest
Wandering cognizance dives forward
Returning to pockmark lakes
Sibylline breath in colour
Seeing saturation succumb to form,
With two raspy hands on speculum shoals
Pine needles drifting sweetly so, a scroll written
A diary entry to a body ever shifting
Remember, for it’s best that I disappear for now

Blinded by wanderlust
Where else are we to go but deeper?
Unwrap the bow-tied gift of injury
Allow ourselves to feel and bleed beneath
Truest incendiaries

Sharing laughs and lack of oxygen
Looking at
The collateral each person
Seeing their own vision
Of a past kept underneath ruptured skin
What is suffering if not a kaleidoscope of memory?

Driftwood Amongst an Open Field

Ardor or Orphic
What wheat has become
A blanket for a beating heart?
Not rushed but suddenly
Sewn in this

Sweet cacophony of impertinent rhythm

What roses, mad and pure,
In mid-efflorescence hide playfully
Amongst flax-strung tongue figurines such as these?
Effort wrought brought stars to skin
A celestial proposition in Morse Code
Blinking with summer’s language
Batting eyelashes light up saccharine
Skies of humid veneration

And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean
And the gardens before us,
In all their fervor
Cast heat deep into Evening’s cerulean ocean,

And our bodies reflexive
Rippled and dissipated in a breeze
Of delicate liqueur almost as if
We were nothing at all all along