t3



I remember when our bodies lay mellifluous and still.
The velvety blue moonlight shone through the sill
Like soft shoes on sand,
Burnishing our bodies
Beneath its masterful hands;
Restoring us.
 
When the color of corn flowers 
Waved through panes,
Of refracting cellophane,
Settling in like a filter,
Supple and untamed,
Abstaining from all persuasion.
 
When you bulleted reports of
Cream soda and football days you’d rather forget.
When you fretted about direction,
Resurrection,
Insurrection of time and 
Reflections on shame which you had been unable to release.
 
The trees, beyond our reach,
Smuggled cool air
Amongst their leaves
And shared branches.
The varied thieves of dawn
Residing upon
The land on which our daydreams were drawn,
Yawned;
Longing for extension.
 
When we remained deliberately hushed,
Having an accord with the final remnants
Of the liminal,
Understanding it to be mystical and 
Capable of protraction by silence.
 
When our communal womb
Savored the last drops of the moon
Before the sun shone syllables into the day.
 
When it was just you and I,
Awake,
And there was space
And opportunity to raise 
Our arms and spin.
 
Nothing about you fits.
 
Pillowy posits arose
In poetic strophes and 
Broken prose.
Sometimes a person just shows 
Up, and somehow, 
We see down
Into
And then through them 
Like a hologram
Of an intended companion;
 
An extension
Of the multidimensional notion
For which we have been hording 
Brimming vessels of devotion;
 
A lighthouse
Dousing hazy boulevards
With radiant shards
Of prodigal lovers.
 
I ruminated on the possibility that these
Divine emissaries
Are extensions of the very 
Circumstances to which we aspire;
Sacred, fleeting
Portals that transform
Our mortal 
Imaginations into reality 
If only we dispense, with the same vitality,
The love we have reserved for something we named
Superior.
 
How, sometimes, they are conduits for what is to come, and that is still beautiful.
 
And so, as the dawn succumbed to
The humming of nesting birds,
Their iridescent feathers signaling the birth
Of morning,
I spoke.

This piece includes my original poetry and artwork.
Poet | Nonprofit Founder | Guide 👁 | Mentor ☯️ | Human (probably) | Everybody’s Weird Auntie ✊🌍 www.wewriteforchange.org
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