Days have been cruel to you,
The nights have stolen from you,
Mornings blind you,
And in these mornings I see sight
In your eyes.
The evenings have lost their light and
shrouded you in darkness,
Dawn lurks too long in the shadows
Perched upon its timely haze,
Dusk is the ancient hour of witching
And it has bewitched you,
Time is running in slow circles
And we around it,
Time is leaving red herrings
And dry patches
You follow it,
And I follow you.
There is a meeting in a gallery,
A gallery that’s somewhere that’s nowhere at all,
A gallery where full portraits hang from it polished walls,
And fountains spot its hallowed halls,
Portraits of times that have long since
Joined and rejoined,
Its stray rivers, intertwined,
A gallery where the old masters still sing,
A gallery without lost causes
Or lost reasons,
Creaking sounds or rumbling noises,
A gallery where bad taste is the highest treason,
Lead me into this gallery dear,
Hold my hand now; show me the sights now,
Hold my fingers and point them in your direction,
Show me the way to the gallery,
Where I know you’ll wait for me,
Fully embracing this thrust of destiny,
The swift emblem of change,
Lead me into this gallery,
Your gallery, where blindness is a virtue,
Where the light bulbs project movies
Inside of our eyes,
Our every wanting eyes,
Take me to that deep corner
In the gallery where you always sit
And dream of times like these,
Where you sit and pray to your gods of vision,
The changing season,
You pray to be virtuous,
You pray to the gallery gods,
As the wavy drum roll thicken,
I walk towards you,
With fear on my breath,
Whispers clouding my mind’s eye,
I walk with boulders tied to my feet,
My back corroded from the golden heat,
Towards her aura of lilac lilies I walk,
Towards the bliss of her being.
And when we finally meet,
We stood toe to toe,
Both praying to the same painted gods,
Slicing the demons with our swords,
Praying for the same final answer,
We both seemed to stand together,
Forever,
Praying,
For the promised blindness,
The wreathed whiteness,
It is ours now,
Forever. Forever.
-- I --
She stood at the door,
Her silver stance glazed to the floor,
Staring at the distant waves,
Staring at the shore,
She starts to walk out the framed picture door,
Her hands held up to a gentle wave,
The Lapping oceans,
Solemn glimpses,
Kissed teardrops,
All waving back to an addiction,
Born within the gates
Of love and sedition,
The departure of a borrowed time,
Gone, gone forever,
With its solitary ravages and its sun lit fires,
She stood and waved a final sigh,
She waved good-bye.
--II--
There was sand at her feet,
Flight in her eyes,
Within her sights was the frozen beach,
Within her sights lay cities seized,
Within her eyes swam pink rabbits and honey bees,
Run stains scattered across wonton seas,
Still she waves standing at my door,
My eyes are glued to the floor.
There is a soft water that does flow,
From the ducts emerge a hollow glow,
Watching a drop as it falls
To the carpet on the floor,
She still stands there waving, at my door.
So cruel- so cruel- a maiden of ice,
A time- a life- lived full to its size,
Into the oceans, droplets a dime,
Giving birth to the now and now of time,
The lucid halo of a sun that is a rising,
The golden brew in the golden light is shining,
And as she walks out her steps
Steps that are rhyming.
Why do you continue to be gone?
Did you not hear?
The beach is back!
A start has begun,
A river with its hosts,
Icy maidens and their sand driven ghosts,
You and me ,
Silently,
Observing weirdly,
What we could have been,
Our weakness in our words,
The demons in these worlds,
The distance in these clouds,
All silver trinkets,
All silver moons and silver Junes,
And I’ll be back soons’.
The car door shuts,
The engine growls,
A black puff and a floating sound,
I see my feet turning around.
