Three year gaps and maps in my life
Times of enormous change
Fine line growth rings, wings in my palm
Turn to soul songs, rising
Where distances are measured through pure years
And tearful exchanges that drip
Drip
Drip
And leaps of faith
That are coloured with strange
Coloured with strange
As I sit here and look back
Search words that somehow sketch
Fetch… perspective
On a reflection tainted by sepia minutes
Hit its
Hints
Like the first three
Choosing not to talk
Hardly growing hair
Holding on tightly with little to spare
A narrative framework
Personalized by tidbit memories that creep in
Fit skin to bone - jaw to chin
And the words rest on the tongue
And wait
Anticipate
For some, too long
Like the last three of formal school
Broken pencils and scrambled treble clefs
As Antigone soliloquies close locker doors
A child looks back at me in the mirror
For more…
Simulating questions about a future
A cadence of how and what and why
My only response - a fragmented poem
A fragmented poem
And an attempt at a good night’s sleep
To wake up and try it all again, just try it
And let the future triangulate the stars
And like the first three of engagement
Sweet succulent years of commitment
Like a chipped plate of plums for an English patient
Burned and fed and nursed into peace
Our wars were small but furious feasts
Standing tall over each other with brooding words
Just to tumble back down
And share a baguette and a sleep
Amble down to a used bookstore
With two divided reasons
But that walk was ours to keep
And like these three years past
This adoption dream forms its own hue
Nestles in and coats itself with uncertainty
Tries to trip up a longing heart
Fraught sketches of insecurity
Like magnification in charcoal
This dusty grip is the hard part
The dream, the seeming, the feelings…they come
Like tiny birds in the morning trees, they come
With regularity like the sun
But holding on with darkness in the grip
Is the hard part
A three year map is a long time
A long reedy line forming and floating
Through salt water tides
As always those wild weeds will subside
Where syncopated sibling birth marks
Shine
And this three year gap will pass, too
Into rhyme
Fine line growth rings, wings in my palm
Turn to soul songs, rising
Where distances are measured through pure years
And tearful exchanges that drip
Drip
Drip
And leaps of faith
That are coloured with strange
Coloured with strange
As I sit here and look back
Search words that somehow sketch
Fetch… perspective
On a reflection tainted by sepia minutes
Hit its
Hints
Like the first three
Choosing not to talk
Hardly growing hair
Holding on tightly with little to spare
A narrative framework
Personalized by tidbit memories that creep in
Fit skin to bone - jaw to chin
And the words rest on the tongue
And wait
Anticipate
For some, too long
Like the last three of formal school
Broken pencils and scrambled treble clefs
As Antigone soliloquies close locker doors
A child looks back at me in the mirror
For more…
Simulating questions about a future
A cadence of how and what and why
My only response - a fragmented poem
A fragmented poem
And an attempt at a good night’s sleep
To wake up and try it all again, just try it
And let the future triangulate the stars
And like the first three of engagement
Sweet succulent years of commitment
Like a chipped plate of plums for an English patient
Burned and fed and nursed into peace
Our wars were small but furious feasts
Standing tall over each other with brooding words
Just to tumble back down
And share a baguette and a sleep
Amble down to a used bookstore
With two divided reasons
But that walk was ours to keep
And like these three years past
This adoption dream forms its own hue
Nestles in and coats itself with uncertainty
Tries to trip up a longing heart
Fraught sketches of insecurity
Like magnification in charcoal
This dusty grip is the hard part
The dream, the seeming, the feelings…they come
Like tiny birds in the morning trees, they come
With regularity like the sun
But holding on with darkness in the grip
Is the hard part
A three year map is a long time
A long reedy line forming and floating
Through salt water tides
As always those wild weeds will subside
Where syncopated sibling birth marks
Shine
And this three year gap will pass, too
Into rhyme
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