There is no way to make whole
some words, never easing their sting
fall, collapsing, pealing hands, opening to dark
a prayer, benediction, gilded curse
your titan hold felt like home all these years
your pursed lips, a harness about my shoulders
this creature, who danced on stage when lights were dimmed
and knew the worth of a moment
just like the perfume of a absentia parent
and the closed door they softly lock in long retreat
will sing inside your soul like a lost cathedral
making her rheumatic confession
O’er collapsing rocks, breaking promises, leading to storm
calloused feet press embered earth in no direction
there is no way to make whole
some words, never easing their sting
your regal neck, bent in concentration, midday
sun alighting on soft hair, gathering electric charge
a persistent hum beneath my skin, rustling like
horse-thief, the urge, galvanized in silence
spilling over red rock into dry orroyo where life
once startled bald and sprung liberate; we who watch
see urging diminishment and rise, your chest breathing
one last fitful glance before
all is quiet, all is soft and blurred
as rain falls for the first time since Winter
washing clear, those who were
out past curfew.
Kaleidoscopic synesthesia – tasting words, hearing flashing views, feeling the sounds – Oh, yes, out way past curfew.
Fine imagery