Still Light

Silence pours into me,
thick and slow
like molasses,
sticks to the roof of
my mouth,
weights my tongue
to fill me up;
my toes, my ankles,
my calves, my knees,
till I become its agony
or – “is it ecstasy?”
as Silence says
“you’ll learn of me,”
it squeezes through
my ribs, to fill my lungs
till I cannot breathe,
nor utter even
wordless breath,
as Silence claims
my right to speech,
then intrudes upon
my heart at last, the last,
my heart who asks,
“then who shall speak,
who speaks for me?”
in the clutches now
of silenced grasp – a beat.

I am the song of sirens
and my lover is
the olive branch,
who comes to me
with doves eyes,
and not a lion,
but with a lambs heart,
lies down
in hopes to die
a thousand deaths
at least, for at least
has died a thousand
times already,
to understand the meaning
of every song I sing.

What is this fluttering about the house
that I’m almost frightened?
In morning, of all things; disoriented,
to be surrounded by so much light.
And how did you get in? As I watch
as you flit about my room; from chair
to table; with wings in a frenzied flutter,
you spin in circles on my floors, and I have
not heart to crush you. No, instead, I
watch in wonder, and in reverie, in thought,
of what brought you here? To serve as
such reminder? For I have not heart to catch
you either, for what injury I might cause,
thinking surely, if I do nothing, you will end
up in my closet, and all my sweaters will
have holes.

For all
is poetry
and language;
to bridge
two separates,
where passion
is a river
that runs
beneath
our feet.

I left the door ajar, I s’ppose,
when learned to love you so,
from a chair I took in the
other room and thought,
‘how foolish it was to think
I loved, before I even knew.’
But foolish is the thought
of love, so love picked me
the fool, that I might know
“what love is; what love is not!”
from a chair in the other room.