you're reading...

Mourning October

Speak the whisper of stones, of morning-breath freezing about birch-trunks.

It was cold in August: my fingers played at the candor in your cascading hair. And you said I was “fine” by the standard of sea-care. Adrift? no, but drifting certainly

toward a certainty. Waves from somewhere crashing around our feet.

Before the end of day we watched the sky pulse gradient without light. The lack of color alarming: it and you and me together, under the hood of some ornamental star

and we were indistinguishable from ash and snow.

Under rock. Above sea-salt. There are places in this world filled with joy and we cannot find them.

Two songs intertwined; four legs measuring gaits of varying length;

your eyes and my mouth so close never meeting.

The ash dissipated as we turned our backs to the earth, we forced ourselves toward frozen light.

Me and you and it were lost, becoming birch-song and stone-gaze.



No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: