attic (may, 2011)

I want to talk about light
that ponderous
pendulum time
when the rays run golden
yes, I'm sure it's sunlight
but it's also
a kiss
suspended in a room
filled with dustbecome cobwebs

listen
you can see the seconds
creep on around photoboxes
in this late attic instant
as we fold down blankets
and lift the dust covers
off of a last summer

turn, smile
eyes
beat
and that, with lips,
is that

open a book
and it will run its fingers
through yours
like so many strands of hair
trapping the blues and greens
and shining out with the colour of time
kept close by the whisperclasp of the cover

it's an invocation
a glimpse into a present
removed only by the different pathways
of neurons and synapses

candle-small
little voices peer into that idea
and fill it up with a symphony
of sneezes and stubbed toes
and etch each panel in the walls
with echoes and heartbeats

we were young once
but this is no lament in the key of grey
young once
just once
but
again and again
we pushed deeper
into our unknown common store
opened that kiss
and each spider-spun second
we rescued from becoming the past
or future

it was a dust filled room
that taught me to love
the secret moments of potential
suspended
in a once
and only once-again
suncluttered memory of light

whitecaps (june, 2011)

sing to me
of summer and spring
rain or cloud to the detriment
of the sun-loving
and I'll say
that the storm-struck waves
were almost like
flakes of fire
on the sea-surface skin of your eyes
beautiful
in the rainstruck windowpane light

and when you're away
I pray for those storms

in medias res (september, 2011)

open the frame
and these words
are meant to jigsawfit
into the puzzlepiece memory
of an unstarted life

call it.
your feet finepound a rhythm
that's step one
two
three
and you're still sinking fast
through crushedleaf lines
dancing on an autumnstruck road

those wickerwishing moments
lie under a starpillow of night
you can rest your head up to

pretend protest
that you 'think' these words
were meant to lie as lovers
next-and-part-of each other
under the blanket
of language and form

it's a lie, of course
and you know nothing
of the sort
your brain
is as empty of that thought
as your bones
and your acidpit stomach

but it hums
of unknowing
and the crackledance of sound
catches fire in your heart

though you want
to whisper words
and have them be
true, lovely things
they wait
heavy as ghosts
in your stopgap
stuttering
not yets
and soons

and even so
you try to kiss it out
as your clenched hands
try to forestall
the shutterbuzz hum of dawn

open the frame
and hide yourself
in the thousand words
of a picture of people
trying not to let the sun come up

I dare you
to turn photons to phrases
and scratch that ink on the wind

each
tumbling breath
each
handtried squeeze
each
hushrustle of cloth
muscle spasm
and
second of silence
between the start of a thought
and the first sound of a word
the quiet

I dare you
to feed those shutterbug slices
to your 'way with words'
and render a thousand thousands
against its store

open the frame
and take just one jigsaw cut second.
put it to words.
I swear you'll find
that one
will be more than not enough.
I dare you.