When I see your face,
jaw slack and eyes closed,
beyond the beat of this moment
in a dimension all of your own,
I relax in the knowledge that
despite the chaos of eggshell mornings
and clay evenings,
you’re finally getting some rest.
Tag: day
Shiver
Shiver,
goose pimples down my arm,
breath a cloud in my path.
But I’m not cold.
This tingle down my spine
is caused by no chill,
but excitement and delight,
for this day and all days to come,
I am with you.
Rushing Rivers
Dawn. We kiss, say our
good mornings.
You, the boy who is my best friend,
listen carefully to the account of my dreams.
Sometimes,
night terrors.
You know where parts come from, just as I do.
You know me,
inside and out, like
the motions you use cutting and shuffling cards,
except without the years of practice
yet at the same time
a lifetime of listening and observing.
We get ready for work,
the day ahead planned and uncertain.
We are a tag team, a cassette tape and pencil.
Together, nothing can keep us down.
Overture
Evening draws in,
the half-moon observes
your passage home.
Hours drip by heavy,
oil falling in water.
Unmixed, always a separate entity
to those wandering past.
Cigarette butts on the ground
avoiding the traps especially set
on waste bins.
The smell of energy drinks
left on the bus two seats down
marring the truest scent
of night.
Door unlocked, house is silent.
Signs of life everywhere
that need to be tidied before morning.
Before mourning.
Of what might have been.
Not of what is.
The aftertaste of what is
is natural,
no added sugar.
Midnight dream
This time the dancing bears circle around the sun,
while the stags haunt the moon,
fleeing from the horns of the wild hunt.
The air shatters, clouds move in like ships
coming into port; great hulking cargos
unloading the spirits who holiday
so gaily, submerged under the bath of stars.
Two Hearts
The heart on a pillow of sunshine
leans across to speak
to the heart under a cover of shade,
wrapped firmly from all light
by woven clouds.
It pumps bold colour down
onto the humid sheets,
tie-dyeing them with rainbows.
The heart under a cover of shade
rolls over. ‘Colour is meaningless
when my eyes only see grey,’ it says.
The heart on the pillow of sunshine
smiles. ‘Then let me show you how
the colours feel, instead.’
Treeshallow Musings 