Behold them in the triumph of light

What now, if anything, shall we wrest from sediment? When the pretty lights have faded to fallen husk, what shall we make of burnt out shells? This, my love, is what awaits us this spring. In the garden of history, the archaeology of whispers. Here now, bones of fire. Brush the dirt from fragments, reconstruct…

Love letter # 467 In clear headed moments I know you no longer think of me as I still think of you; and I am fine with this. I do not seek to rewrite history. When you said you loved me, you meant it –  just as you did, minutes later, when you said you…

Love letter # 477 They don’t have to know the truth – just something they can believe that will make them leave us alone.

Now that I am here at last…

…I am in awe of you once more, for you have saved me again. From that which, until this afternoon, I could barely bring myself to utter in thought. In the present flood, I adore you. To call it any less would be a lie. Back then, in the hazy remembering, where only certain things…

Love letter # 862 When you moved away, you took the world with you. A gutted replica remained. The outline of something, nearly nothing. I traversed the hollow streets – the excavated avenues – and how they did echo. The empty rooms we left behind. A resonant quiet in place of song. That was years…

Love letter # 517 For what have I yielded, for what airs have I thrown up shutters to inrush? What hath impelled me to cede once guarded ground? Tis not for God or other compulsion. Tis not for reckless chance. I do not seek release from solitude, nor the flattery of the becoming eye. Yet,…

From afar

I have seen you from afar Across impossible distance The space between vision I noted tiny details From the vantage of strangers Through this blood borne prism So nearly have I touched you Vaulting infinite regress To swing within your rhythm I have never breathed your name Nor heard such outward sighs Yet still I…

Love letter # 465 How much evidence is required before bold declarations are broadcast? How long to wait before saying aloud that which is screaming within? By what metric do I reach such heated conclusion? Perhaps if we did not reduce everything to the reputedly rational, I would not be in this fix. This missive…

Love letter # 474 The once tangible force of your presence has become a kind of archaeology. Fossilised remains. Dead pictures, pressed flat by time. The world we once fashioned with our tender belief compressed to a hush of breath. A clock ticks. It counts the leftover jewels in our crown. We, who made as…

Le retour du printemps

… Then they were in their spring, their bright emergent hope. Girls. Boys. Budding into sex and fumbling, tender belief. On the crest of hormones and heartache. Theirs was the eternity of boundless tomorrow. The widescreen romance of aching desire and the blizzard lust of newly invented love. Here the peaks of exception; vaulting the…