Saturday, February 23, 2019

white on white

there is a place to lay it
here upon the white on white
cross-hatched text replete with pause
darting as gray finches about the birch
spilling seed from beaks too impossibly small to matter. Much.
feathers litter the ground
impossible to pick up with these cold fingers
as words so oft stall within their tips
paused--waiting for more air?
more feathers?
here upon this page I leave my emptiness, my fullness
sorrow & sight
wonder & weariness
a lament for the yellow-tinged memory of wind & weight
i have also dumped words as a velvet bag of marbles
sparkling, dull and difficult
into his capable-steeled arms
too cumbersome
too vined & untethered
too mercury-silver
forgive me
and thank you
there is a place to hold it
give it a name & pin it in place
only to lose it amongst the debris that is forgotten & frayed
there is a place to lay it
these words & weather
here alongside the fault-line of tender allowing
be mine
white on white 

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