Stalemate

Was it what you knew
That drew you away?
Was it that we weren’t aware?
Our arc of togetherness
Is burdened by all said, or unsaid;
We forgot how to be.

Silence and secrets –
Sly balms and weapons –
Too long to aid, too short to awaken
Compassion
Make us opposing figures
In a stalemate game.

Inevitably time flow will
End mutual deafness.
Or innate pulsation of piled decades.
Do you, too, blame me?
We are love stuck in a maze, seeking the line
Of rich and of poor patience.

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A Barricade

 Now there is silence; convincing, dense.

A roadblock of dread: anxieties on what’s to come fueled by wrongs of times past. Next to the lumpy heap on sunless asphalt rests actuality and its plain might flees our naked eyes.

A playback of thoughts doesn’t still. Time drips like wax on flame.

Adrift in wakeful ages, I can’t locate the exit from the state of stand-by. Again and again, providence mulls if past our barricade awaits a second chance.

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An ode to a friend

Take me to the sea, an abiding witness:
Its steady shore my home
Its brawny hum a purge
Every one glimmer relaxing across all time.

Take me to the sea, the bearer of my secrets:
Where ebb and flow, eternal and equal –
Granting and taking without prejudice –
Pursue one another, our lives a playground.

Take me to the sea, it knows what to do:
Accepting crumbled wishes and daydreams.
Its majestic patience a reminder
Of surrender to the Gods.

Take me to the sea and I will sail again:
As grays and blues meld
And waves ground the soul, hushing the ache.
Seize my hand, now, and take me to the sea.

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The Core

A skeleton
Of us
Shapes of charcoal –
Dead or alive?

Wrecked intercourse
Solitude, and
Milestone-long
Exhales.

If we could share
The magnitude
Of desire
In our orbits.

The jazzy bench
Inside
For those
Who won’t know.

Without continuum
Immediacy
Candor
What will survive?

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Imperfect

The river
carries all there is:
we meet, and we part
each time like the first.

As riptides
wrench the roots
we hang on to the clutter
looking to tape back who we were.

Flow rushes
ahead; patterns
zoom in and out from
the inside of cracked eyes.

Against streams
we wade. To lull and
forget – if for moments –
is providence of a human heart.

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