before the darkness
eats the road i thought i could see -
there was a poem.
so i place my hands where the stream lives in me
so i undo the knots in my hair
so i lean over you, heart beating
and write:
i admit the scent of my lover's perfume on her sweater,
the image of two friends in love after losing love's battle,
i admit the return home after a year
and fantasies of home i imagined with each new falling,
i admit that rain in the winter and the memory
of that time old crone when i reach the bedrock
of my bones
of that time old crone when i reach the bedrock
of my bones
burrows a sadness the color of fog in me.
and i smile to the waiting for death
and i smile to the waiting for living
and i place my hands on my breath
still awake at 5 in the morning
seeking for some kind of comfort
in waiting
to start again.
