we have never hugged
a mast like we do tonight
we can plot the points all night
correlate, correlate
pause and punctuate
your breath has become a unstringed harp
what is it there for
it is just an empty curve
a fallen bow
addressing a regression
toward the mean, I tap out
a stanza about a stiff mouth
that exhales its blue-eyed flies, you turn
the television up
volume is the mood, the pace
of twenty five years
rolls in a slow wake
which of us
will dare to invite a loom
to visit our dream and spin
for us
a sail
____________________
Weekly Scribblings #30: Writing as a Metaphor for Living
Some striking images.
ReplyDelete...the pace of twenty-five years (I've been married 30!) and I wish a gently-filled sail is spun... it's never too late :)
ReplyDeleteLove the imagery in this piece. I say, keep spinning.
ReplyDelete