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Within a Dream

The sound of my last dream

will be silence: the silence

of fog, the silence of fear.

My last dream will echo

the clack of high heels

on wet London streets.

My last dream will be warm

like your bare skin beneath

my hands late at night.

My last dream will linger

over the thousand, thousand

kisses: your lips soft,

warm, hungry for more.

My last dream will be free

of doubt, secure in coherence

with all the lines blurred.

My last dream will not wake

to return me to a place

it can never know.

My last dream will be

a harbor, a sanctuary, 

a last whispered breeze.

(October 15, 2019)

Light Erases Shadow

The sun sits still, yet moves

perpetually to a new horizon,

a new dawn; this world

moves with us, always here.

Inevitably, moment to moment,

color extracts from shadow,

as morning, refuses definition,

and pushes back night’s advances.

A prismatic god unfolds

around us as you speak; words

divide to nuance and variant, 

until blinded, we turn away.

Too much light erases shadow;

we’re defined by what we are not.

(August 4, 2019)

Patchwork

I find a narrative,

as I age, hard

to patch together.

I cannot mend

all that I have

rendered, all

I have misplaced

in anger, and neglect.

I have no prologue

to explain succinctly

each switchback

I have turned along.

It’s easier to see

a moment without a past;

easier to mind the flower

as a petal first falls.

What scars I have

are well hid; no

stars to weave

a pattern in the sky.

(July 31, 2019)