102/365 - 113/365 || Twelve Conversations with a Winter Moon
The analogy
should be made obvious. Clear.
The words in the book
become the voice in your head.
My voice repeating my words.
•
You hold a pebble.
The pebble aches to increase
in size, move beyond
perimeters of your hand,
or notions of being owned.
•
Sometimes you appear
after a long night drinking,
blurry-eyed. Wrinkled.
A dark edge of unshaven
whiskers on your curved features.
•
What was— is now gone—
burnt out embers, cold ashes.
Circumstances change
overtime— the stove once hot
transforms to a stone-cold shell.
•
— and even your eyes
carry the ghost impressions
of your former past.
Shadows which cling at your heels
distort in the morning light—
•
A shirt lies empty,
forgotten on the unmade
corner of the bed—
transforms to ghost memory
or a mere speculation—
•
As an empty plate
left on the table’s worn edge—
unspoken symbol
or expectant metaphor—
you pause—an apparition —
•
A lamp left burning
on the darkening side street,
as unfinished poems
piled on a desk top by
the window with open blinds.
•
Outside each window
your face shifts between the glass,
a ghostly voyeur
witnessing each falling word,
each failed gesture between us.
•
Other times you fade
in the background as a blur
in a photograph,
a forgotten phrase pausing
on the tip of a blunt tongue.
•
Like the time you tripped
walking up the stairs, drunk on
experience and
returning home with someone’s
breath still warm inside your mouth—
•
You linger palely
resting on the horizon
as a vague notion,
or a sight hesitation
I cover up with one hand.
should be made obvious. Clear.
The words in the book
become the voice in your head.
My voice repeating my words.
You hold a pebble.
The pebble aches to increase
in size, move beyond
perimeters of your hand,
or notions of being owned.
Sometimes you appear
after a long night drinking,
blurry-eyed. Wrinkled.
A dark edge of unshaven
whiskers on your curved features.
What was— is now gone—
burnt out embers, cold ashes.
Circumstances change
overtime— the stove once hot
transforms to a stone-cold shell.
— and even your eyes
carry the ghost impressions
of your former past.
Shadows which cling at your heels
distort in the morning light—
A shirt lies empty,
forgotten on the unmade
corner of the bed—
transforms to ghost memory
or a mere speculation—
As an empty plate
left on the table’s worn edge—
unspoken symbol
or expectant metaphor—
you pause—an apparition —
A lamp left burning
on the darkening side street,
as unfinished poems
piled on a desk top by
the window with open blinds.
Outside each window
your face shifts between the glass,
a ghostly voyeur
witnessing each falling word,
each failed gesture between us.
Other times you fade
in the background as a blur
in a photograph,
a forgotten phrase pausing
on the tip of a blunt tongue.
Like the time you tripped
walking up the stairs, drunk on
experience and
returning home with someone’s
breath still warm inside your mouth—
You linger palely
resting on the horizon
as a vague notion,
or a sight hesitation
I cover up with one hand.
Found this a terribly painful poem to read. Exquisite in places.
ReplyDeletePartly the poem carries a thread from the other work I mentioned some time ago: "To A Former Lover in Minneapolis." In the end (for what ever reasoning) I allowed the theme/mood from the finished poem to infiltrate these tanka verses through the image of the moon: R.= moon.
ReplyDeleteAnd before someone corrects me, I know in classical literature the moon is associated with a female entity. However, I associate the moon with a male entity, based on the Nordic God of the Moon, a deity chased by a ravenous wolf, on a nightly basis. Eventually, the wolf captures the male-moon-figure and devours it. Therefore, knowing R.'s issues and his personality, this metaphoric connection works well. A painful bridge.
It is time I created an in-depth post discussing this concept....
At-any-rate, Yvonne, now that I have passed over the bridge, perhaps the focus can return to more positive energies!
Fantastic metaphorical allusion D-G - and thanks for the explanation as I have a keener understanding now.
ReplyDeleteYes, for your own sake, I am glad you have passed over the bridge... but such experiences, such loves, they are the warp and woof of our current lives, aren't they...and require remembrance, celebration, mourning - perhaps our attempts to "understand"?
But agreed! The positive energies (current love, your boy...) have certainly had you producing some beautiful work before!