I’ll save you a place
On those days
Where waking it takes all
To muster gratitude
Yet we do
You and l
Find the fox path through thicket and dence bramble
Where light footed children before us ran
Soft in tow, elongated against shadow
Spilling their amusement like hay seeds
And stubborn burr, clinging to wool coat
Just in case it should grow cold
Then from our tree house
We’d forage for kindling
And brighten the alcoves of elm and foxglove
Just like when you were gone
Sealed in a room like you’d boarded a ship and steamed
Through hectered expanse, combed wild with distance
So far I could no longer hear your metronome
When windows flung like outstretched hands, you played Eric Satie
Able to conjur emotion without perfumed love letter
When all I had was a supple back and trained muscles
Dry with chalk, head bowed, waiting to mount and vault
Gymnast or star catcher, seems likely both
Such peacefulness in throwing out fears
With a twist of wrist, a spring and leap
When you do not hold back, that’s when you see
This world’s underpinning like a great silk train
All the seasons following in ivy headdress
Who knows the mood, a temperature of pick pockets
Punished or saved, sometimes hard to tell
We are like an indigo building storm
When weather is calm you can never tell
Invisibly, out of sight, burgeoning swell
Blowing cracked cheeks, gathering momento
If you keen into white noise, leapfrogging over din
Whispers on wind, gentle turns to fierce
We are so like our Creator, twisting at whim
Or by design
Either has the thickness of a stranger’s hide
Not our timid hearts, cowering at first lighting strike
Out of time, urging forward despite ourselves

0 Replies to “Out of time (2)”

  1. Amazing images, one after another, Candice. They all come together for me in the line “….This world’s underpinning like a great silk train…” All of it amazing!
    Hope you’re continuing to feel better. 💕💞

  2. Wonderful how you can’t hear the metronome but instead Erik Satie, music with no strong beat but wide open expanse. The distance is felt with this contrast. So much craft to the whole poem, really.

  3. “Survival writing”.
    “Who knows the mood, a temperature of pick pockets
    Punished or saved, sometimes hard to tell
    We are like an indigo building storm
    When weather is calm you can never tell
    Invisibly, out of sight, burgeoning swell
    Blowing cracked cheeks, gathering momento
    If you keen into white noise, leapfrogging over din
    Whispers on wind, gentle turns to fierce
    We are so like our Creator, twisting at whim
    Or by design”
    At its best. I pray that you’re feeling much better and gaining more strength.

  4. This stopped me from everything else in the first few lines. And Eric Satie, I remember playing him over an over during times of great depth and sadness. this is a beautiful poem.

  5. Always the mistress of such wonderful images that capture my heart and portray they world as I know my heart sees it. This is why you and I are similar souls and I and so happy for it. ❤

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