Oh love
death is a transition
just as life is a bird
who interupted, will startle
leaving a smudge of indigo
against stark whitewashed sky
the shush-shush of neighors raking leaves
whose auburn crepe bows in protest
for they wish to lay still with the grass
turn seasons over in their golden hours
this artificial need
to tidy, put away, is but one method
of seizing a control far from reach
I fold in your arms, light gloaming through shutters
out of the corner of my eye I see marks on my skin
the furlough of time and suffering, chaffs against endurance
your eyes look oriental as you age
their downturn makes you smile even in pain
lends you a kindness strangers respond to
quiet is infused with our collected breathing
in this moment we live
sheltering from portent
I see the neighbor’s son helping his mother
he’s grown thin and reaching like the trees
not yet aware of diminishment
or why his mother holds back tears
when the sun paints day dark and shadows roam
casting their memories, as we did once with a torch and our hands
your shape lasts in my mind, a totem
I’ve carried an ache so deep in me for so long
it seems to exist independently
a Golem of my own creation
perhaps he will bend and lift me up, when next I fall
weighted by emptiness and disappointment
maybe he will spin me around in browning leaves
escapees of the neighbors rake
flung in unfettered defiance
a string of thoughts
stirred
never
ever
tamed
TheFeatheredSleep 