Is it an astigmatism or

The blur of a questioning heart

When things are disordered, the very edge 

Clutching bitten sides as hollow city dwellers

Imagine faces looking downward into fast moving water, seeing drowned doves

A predilection for extremes

Where daughters cut their ropy hair

And open like heart chakras beneath festive lighting in department stores

Accents donating starry landscape above

Informing choices as snowbound relatives learning to talk over cold soup

Girls in A-line skirts, boys hiding erections behind glossy schoolbooks

And the heat of asfalt, curling like collars made of beaver

High gloves, no verbs, learning how to dye mouths like hair

Standing on unstable chairs, wobbling with frail grace

Where is moral nerve? Where negotiation? 

Responsibility for one’s life, defines self respect into a set of bronze rings hung from pinched hips

Whatsoever the plan, pinned to walls to hide the cracks

Tension strung like artificial silk, Protection sitting among lotus words

Flattering our need only leaves a sick emptiness

As when your mother left and the heavy latch 

Never fell back

Locking you in

Toys and books and closed looks

Guests who leave their fingers uncurled, will be claimed

As shadows whisk the corners of sobriety, in sating stain

When all is said and done, back to earth we come

Folding our weary necks against soft shove

If you take anything, take the memory of

That first summer before the shimmer rubbed off 

And everyone was golden beneath August, like hot dancers 

Turning their pliant necks to the orchestra’s

Swelling crescendo

26 thoughts on “Crescendo

  1. I’ve visited your posts lately and have typed and retyped several responses, all deleted. But remain speechless! …well, except for this comment… There ya go!

  2. I’ll not often quote scripture but this passage comes to mind β€œbring the little children unto me”. It is their innocence we are reminded to hold onto, for this human realm steals it away far too quickly, yet it remains within us, a sanctuary to love …

  3. Candice, I love this, especially this line near the end.

    “If you take anything, take the memory of

    That first summer before the shimmer rubbed off”

    This reminds me of the reflective books, songs, movies and memories. Bob Seger sang “I wish I didn’t know now, what I didn’t know then.”

    Nicely done, my friend, Keith

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