Seeking Physical Presence In A Stock Photo

Teenage intuition seeks alternatives to baring witness
Conversations  delayed till no longer relevant

Legs run
Tracing root systems to river’s edge
Flames whisper from peripheral’s blur
Time capsule’s accordance
Flesh is buried
Trinkets sewn of heart string
Reunite with hand prints on hinges
Pulling heavy breath through narrow openings
Stumbling still abled
Safety in knowing but not showing face,
Translated shoe laces missing
Tied a knot somewhere
Stopped the bleeding for a little while longer
Scrapbook sheets left behind
Licked a stamp as last chance exit
To be returned anywhere
Except every moment not shared

A picture framed
Gravel roads kaleidoscope stained
Porch light projecting a phosphorescent montage of letters kept
Context shown as postscript flashbacks
Narrated by voices in tones of bodies present,
Pressed together pen under skin
Wrote in cursive slender yet elegant,
A signature and hyphen followed by
A smile with some numbers added
Replaced the thought of never seeing you

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Feather Weight

A kiss creased into a back pocket
Smiled unexpectedly
In reference to a present opened on Christmas,
An item thoughtful and needed
Following a fence post wanted

A knock prior
Passively echoing a feeble voice
Whispering

Shake dry the sultry atmosphere
A brush of moist air passing through

Dive down stairs like submarines learning to sink
Releasing ballast out of habit
Plunge mechanical
Skin rusting
Oiled joints moving with effort
Onto couch cushions-
The very bottom yet just beginning to,
This is where it begins

Trading finger prints with hand shakes-
A continued attempt to show these arms are
Harmless
Continually striving for contact

Laughter asunder
Subtle oxygen deprivation
Pupils dilate in accordance
With action perceived,
Teeth reveal themselves
Peaking around the corners of a mouth worn upward

Ambient gossamers of cerulean float freely
Between
Two telescopes meeting-
Bashful harmony brushed gently
Into the inner folds
Of knees swollen,
Wading water convinced pressure
Could crush such a thing

A throat ladened dry
Spoke as if swallowed by
The undertow
Gave response to tension-
A note to be read
Until the words are wet and impassive

Stepping Stone

Roaring like a muffled whisper speaking
A secret falling on deaf ears
What’s perceived as wind or a warbler
Singing is always so much more
But English is the only language I know

In spring buds begin to enunciate
From birch boughs frozen plateaus
Shout free flowing water this barrier
Doesn’t prevent an ear from trying
To interpret,
So it’s Friday night- band practice
Sitting cross-legged in the living room
Margaritas sitting adjacent
And we talk wholesome
Skin flaps pinned to panel boards
Rib cages splayed open
Reading our cicatrix
Laughing mad at circumstance, persistently
There exists
Silence between tongue movements
A razor breeze though the window’s closed
I can’t help at being distracted like
I’m constantly being left out or always
Longing for a family member that doesn’t exist,

Now it’s summer
Flowers dancing to cricket choruses
And we’re on a lake buried
Deep in deciduous forests, far away
And only out of context are we lost,
Daylight surrenders to lullaby evening
Sleep takes hold and I am alone
Basking amongst an open forum
Breathing and not a human speaks
And for a little while there’s an understanding,
Clarity coming through darkness
It’s not loneliness,

They’re calling me from home

Maybe Hope or A Huge

The trees

If you turned the lights off
Let night saturate atmosphere as embers of
A once roaring fire now smolder beneath
A blanket of ash glowing just so softly,
It might look like a bustling city,
From a few miles away,
Grasping at silhouettes of oaken statues
Reaching for a familiar hand
The space between main street and this palpating heart
Has grown so distant
I tell my heart to slow down
Driving back home to where lights
Shine a different context,
Not to get excited
A memory once sung has buried itself
Once providing strength
Now wormholes long and hollow
Leave me fragile and petty
Not to get excited,
The lake has evaporated the fire
So going 55 seems more a punishment than celebration,
Not going to the infant incandescence
The pyre waits as debt and birthdays fill empty space
After all
What burns better than dead devotion?
Eyes lock to the sky as we get closer
Pretending for a little while longer
That the memory of being alive is tangible
And my heart beats fast
And the city climbs atop the statues
Glowing just so softly
And something’s waiting for me

Restitution

On the hem of a river
Behind the glowing lights
Of a ‘54 Bel Air dashboard
The constellations glisten
With barn owls and reclaimed wood,
Rusted to earth
The ferns have replaced frantic minors
Staring faceless into their hands
Drinking the stagnant sips
Of watered down whiskey
Hiding beneath the backseat,
Silhouettes project
Themselves over skin
Almost a match,
A body between
Memory and transitioning
A feather falling
Believing itself to be a leaf,
The car doesn’t move
Yet we are stricken motion sickness

(“Where Have You Been?”) I Never Left

Rye the western bank
Washes amber-set embankments
Scrubbing ears and eyes as a honey bee does,
Weave clearance with post-impressionist swampland
A few drops of  pollen can be an incredible addition
Bramble bushes blushed dove-like
Quivering candle wax analogies river reveries
Into the night voices flowing
Saturated with glass then sand
Eventually decay and underbrush blooming abundant
With blood poppies, to find beauty in going unnoticed
A whisper of nectar slipping through fingertips
Slithering ever casually amongst crevasses of foliage
Sinking gracefully into the mouth
Roaming without pause or thought,
This small pocket of cimmerian bliss
Remains so obviously in sight

A Change of Pace

Replace windowpanes with cliff faces
Journey to a more natural
State through a pasted collage
Of picturesque contours equating
The bends of our elbows to the
Curves of limestone escarpments and
Speaking- roots break up chrome screens
Covering teeth it hurts at first; to crumble
At the fault of growth, to freeze
In the winter, to warm up and readily accept
Fish spawn hooks strung to poles in the summer,
Then it simply
Doesn’t anymore, we breathe
Sink sipping into eagle feathers
Seeing an aerial view as if being
Human is a stepping stone and this
Is where we truly belong
Syncopating ground with atmosphere
Here with there moving in slow grace
To nature migrating look!
To nearest distance: a sunset of whitetail deer
Envelops a lighthouse purls
At a beach decorated with soft sangria-capped fossils