shifting sands grains unable to be grasped slipping through fingers sieve of my existence footprints vanishing in vain trying to leave an imprint, fingerprints fossilizing
as I watch sea drops dry on shells shells of mankind displayed non-selves on shelves
shifting painted shapes offer to take me away only to lead to the next drifting cumulous cloud lateral when I need to be higher homeward bound
shifting sands I open my hand spread my fingers wider I know what the answers are not to feel the silk is to feel nothing caught but sensory strokes the void in the curve of my palm no trail found to my entrance into the sea
saltwater can’t sting when the wounds are too far beneath the body’s surface
arms open I invite the above in home- sick let me know I am not
Saving grace, whole heart back in your arms, you hold all of me as me; I never knew how non-words could feel the best route. Unspoken is our reset, mutual forgiveness, moving on but not leaving anything unaddressed. We understand, silent resolutions, in the simple language of love.
Do you mind if I stay extra near awhile, to just exist in this balance, a respite from the drama of being so much?
Sometimes (more often than not), I exhaust myself with this wild heart and wild soul I house.
I must part ways with you now, dear Darkness; Light is forlorn without its Laura,
my aura is dimming the further I drift in this alluring cradling away from attempts
of putting forth the efforts to swim back up toward Bliss:
I still hope, believe (barely), that it exists.
A parting kiss…
Yes, I know that means I will have to let go, for now, of that dream, but I can keep the parts that were seeded, for weeds they are not; I feel it, in that new spot, how I can nurture it into something beautiful still…
I return to the isle from a distance, leave a trinket, so it is known I’ll always be near,
Internal disposition of slipping into loss of direction, contingent upon situation, origin, intention, catalyst participation, leisurely initiated or punitively inflicted, meditation or conviction. Usually welcome as an introverted creative, this episodic disillusion stripping me of all pulls keeping me rooted to anything…
Loss of hearing among the noise.
Lifetimes paused, unable to decide
anything at all. Desirous of a
f a l l,
anything to move the air to revivify my trackable pulse, the beat of my heart back on the radar to be found again, though I am not