Violet III

She has

Always been empty

Of aught but herself

She built her own airships and

Sailed westerlies most calm

The interchange of futures

Distant marks upon her charts

And periapts of the exiled

Things she eagerly lost

That said

Inconturnable

Her tailwinds cannot keep

For a beetle in a prism said

There is nothing to be

Without being

And so the drifting vision

Composed of stories

Near to flesh

The rudder of imagination that

Has been mainstay and reflex

She will drift to earth

And leave it

Where memory grows

Dearer than truth

Believing grass will cover sails

And new flowers bloom

*

Where we last vacationed

They had come for the morphology

Of an old-new city down to its heart

For the light intensity and ground temperature

For the bass of urban noise and art

The attic rooms that I had chosen,

Their pictures aspiring to a hotel

Had pleased in price only to disappoint

Age gathering on sills

But I leave them to their complaints

On the other side of these thin walls

Mixed with debate as to where to dine

While I listened for your footfalls

They had come for the engineering

Of life and speed intertwined

But I came hoping to see your ghost

And sit together like old times

*

Image source

Morning Synesthesia

I woke up prematurely

In the most agreeable way

Three sweetly-laden platters

A black forest, a mousse, a cheesecake

And as I dressed for work

I still wanted to believe

Sadly, my empty stomach

Proved the cakes were just a dream

 

 

 

On Early Shores

Were you not that primrose light

That followed me every morn

And lit my path among the rocks

That spanned from shore to shore

I might have forgotten, darling

Your lithe and lilting form

What curves of cheek and ankle

Threads of perfume through a storm

But even now you are before me

And the promise within your eye

Carries me from ship to harbor

While the rocks lie far behind

A smile like Rotatev

She could have been just a stitch of light

Between contrails and non-baryonic life

But under Delphinus she caught his eye

And he saw mountains in which to wander

Time placed them countless parsecs apart

The sway of a laugh refracted from afar

But dilation made of her smile a star

And he knew he would always wander

Heaven Once Lost

I was shut out of heaven

Always searching for

Something as blithe as sweet

Just as crisp as ripe

And as smooth as breathing

I cast off uneasy roads

And travelled for the light

Never thinking I was circling

Back to a steep and craggy rise

From early in my journey

Up rose an alabaster stair, aglow

As I had not recalled

Goodness, not severity

Succor rather than burdens

And love in lieu of need

Then I felt a pang, as touching

That once-patient stair

Steps lengthened into vapour

A closed and ever-farther shore

That I had scorned to sail

I was shut out of heaven

And I remain, remembering

The worthy paths I left unwalked

The blessings poorly counted

And all that I could have been

New porridge old toast

“You’re still young” they say

Not

“You’re young”

That’s how I know

I am older than I should have been

When he left me

Canned response

Ulendra, there is something

I must speak with

The Captain

Observe the protocols;

There is nothing for 40 lightyears

And so the Captain is not

To be disturbed

He will like to hear this, I know

Only overlook my going and

Humour your fellow cosmonaut

On this ship, I estimate

83 per cent of human honesty is met

With lack of self-knowledge

Disguised as humour

Ulendra, you are being

Tiresome, the most

Contrary being for parsecs

So you have said before

But patience is not rewarded,

Nor help at the end of patience

So turn around

I’ll speak to the Captain

Later

You realize that, don’t you

Perfectly. And I see that

My resilience will outlast yours

For the stars of Andromeda

Heed no passing meteors

At the Brink of Time

Where infinity fades fuzzy

As an impressionist’s paintbrush

And time wrestles with gravity

To pull us off into the dusk

Our longings will be nothing

Nor paralysis of choice

But birds to catch unerring

Familiar fleets to be rejoined

We will sample secret pleasures

And journey where we never spoke

Carve bowsprits from fallen feathers

In between the brushstrokes

And I will hoard your laughter

Your warm, admiring eye

Before the canvas darkens

And at last I say goodbye

Pine

Her nails were pine green to match her dress, and she knew that he was looking at them. She didn’t usually paint her fingernails. Even looking away, at this point, could be a provocation.

She looked away anyways. She wished that they were stranded deep in a forest in winter, snow creeping hot then wet then blisteringly cold up from her ankles.

Somehow, for him to actually lift up one of her hands – fingertips under fingertips – was the last thing she expected.

“Did you paint them just for the party?”

It was crowded, the sour haze of alcohol, and they were standing in their own little pocket by the sink. A window flung wide open, a searing January wind. That was what she needed. Her hand shot backward to hide between her skirt and the counter.

She could not do anything about the hand holding her glass, however.