Half
what’s missing he thinks is what’s wrong
tell me what’s there to work with she asks
both see the same flower before them
neither see the same flower before them
it is the glass which frames the problem
—
with one step
we cross a border
such a brave new world
—
traveling all night from Nice to Rome
we stepped sleepily into the city street
dazzled by the morning sun
and the speed of the foreign tongue
we were suddenly surrounded
then robbed by gypsy children
—
what gets taken
each time I see you
whatever vague thoughts
trouble my heart
only to return
as you depart
—
the frame of the door
the walls of this room
the language one uses
define a space that is
non-existent on its own
an absence
an opening
a new thought
a word
—
there is an art to hiding
in the open to exposing
yourself while you maintain
your sense of self
to move like waves of wind
across a field of wheat
one must let go of the earth
and dance with the air
—
he holds the brush
before the canvas
lost in thought
where to from here
one step
then another
trust
is a process
there is no end
—
the door closes slowly
I stand
indecisive
afraid of my choices
—
where are you now
it’s cold outside
—
fear weaves
like frost
(January 2012)
up the path
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