From my journal, 23 March 2019… when goodbye was still a fleeting idea
I cannot define what force holds me here
What roots I have somehow discovered
Curling their way upwards to the sunlight
Seemingly carved into existence
By red clay
And ancient hands,
A face with crinkles when she smiles and the belt of Orion in her eyes.
I am so warm.
I feel that I am as sweat careens down my face, making patterns in the sand that has made its refuge
A respite from traveling on the fingertips of the wind.
But this feeling that ropes itself through me
This vibrant, pulsing warmth
is the color of the mid afternoon sun
That bows it’s head
and gently grazes its lips to the trodden tile of sunset below
Caressing dancing patterns
through leaves and lace curtains.
I am held in the palm of the present.
And yet everything is circling back now
Time’s dance running anew
Sand through my grasping fingers
Ten nine eight seven sixfivefourthreetwoone
And how could I possibly go?
And how could I possibly stay?
And who will I be when I return?
I wear thin cotton on my shoulders
And a rage of roses on my cheeks
Thousands of unsaid words
And unsung goodbyes
Held captive by a blush of chapped lips
Retained breathless in a moments whisper
A second from overflowing
Words too startling to be revealed
Too real to be released into the harsh light of day
I l l u m I n a t e d.
The mosaic is cracking, shattering,
the painted sky of a fiery sunset,
is contained in the subtle presence of a singular green clothespin
Hanging upside down from the clothesline
Swinging in the slight breeze
That rustles my hair
Making strange dancing patterns on this ink stained paper
I am still.
all I can do now is pluck fleeting moments from thin air
And pen them into the semi-permanence of blue ink,
Living memories secured by red leather walls,
As if they are all I will have left,
When the world begins to spin as it once did
And I stand breathless
Longing for home and sandy footprints.