Tilted back and empty of war, I go about the business of my day
until, with cuffs rolled and a cigarette, the moon knocks on my door.
Suddenly upset and easily kindled, he moves toward me like a city
shadowed by a single cloud. Its jagged edges an eraser on the tip
of seven wooden pencils, rubbing out happiness. All I have
is the recitle of 28 years of wounded apologies
and a kiss of faith, and after twenty minutes of slide-show reuniun
he pushes off to recount the days when the valleys didn’t seem so lonely. Smoke
trailing behind him, and a glance back, he moves slowly to the sky.
4 Comments
mmmmmmmmmm…
The recital of 28 years of apologies and a kiss of faith really resonates with me. Ghosts in our own head are some of the most powerful things.
I also really like empty of war, the pride that comes before a reminder of weakness.
you tease!
i subscribe, you stop writing :(
Great images and feeling.