“Diminuendo” and others

“searching for keys amongst the creases”


The walls of her room are blank
like score-less sheets.
But as she hums to herself in her sleep
The notes float from her lips –
a minim here and there, a congregation
of quavers spinning above her head.
Her chest steadily rises and falls in scales
yet her heartbeat jumps across the octaves.
Gently I dab the saliva from her lips –
it pulls away, a silver stave,
begging to be threaded with chords
as charms. Her hands are too heavy now
to rise from the blankets. But her fingers flutter,
searching for keys amongst the creases.Learning Curve

Some days I stand in the shower
with my forehead against the tiles
and don’t move for hours,
like a horse sleeping in its stall.
Yesterday my dad heard me crying;
he sat against the bathroom door
and cried with me, for his own broken heart.
Loving the unattainable; it must be a glitch
stitched into the genes.


The air is full of rain, or the rain is full of air.
It doesn’t seem to be falling, only suspended,
like sun-swelled dust motes plateauing across windows.
Ever since that phone call the whole world
has become one, long baited breath.


Sunlight dribbles down the learning curve
of my back as I arch over you, bridging the gap
of years, experience, and tears.
I am a beautiful mess, gorging myself
on a beautiful abundance of you.


We have stopped believing in God.
What we have on this hot summer night
transcends the laws of religion;
we are creating our own afterlife.
If, in the end, there is nothing, what does it matter?
We have had an afternoon of paradise.
We should not expect any more than this.


A wedding and a funeral, you said.
In the morning stirring limbs will brush
confetti from the bed sheets and we will rise
to put on black shirts and gloves and hatsGrowing Apart

In the beginning we were like county borders –
the divide only manmade;
our geography the same.
Like landscapes we lay entwined – dry walls wrapped as limbs so the lines
were invisible.

Then a flood – a river ripped
through us, fleeing in tears.
But we were still touching
beneath that angry water – all the years, as the waves
chewed everything away.
Who said a gap, a gulf, is empty – dead?

No. Our anger was a valley charging the space,
barging with each of its shoulder blades, butting
us in the face! Mist settled low – clouded our surroundings. The air
grew thick and clotted like a wound,
our words darkened and ached.

Earthquake! We pushed each
other away as forcefully
as tectonic plates until –
too late.
Now, we are mountain ranges
on different continents,
speaking different languages.


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