Saturday, October 15, 2011

Poems XI

Fontanel


Windowpane chants,
withdrawn,
forlorn,
iris' feathery clouds,
dreams drifting within.

We reach like a wire --
an eager connect? --
distraught empty-
hands,
heartbroken via.

Voids fill us,
doubts' blackened folds,
a questioning tear --
who?
One answer:
we are but alone's
gaping insides;
itself's yearnful thoughts,
beauties, evils --
nothing
and everything,
thudding.

Then a realize, alight,
the white knowledge sea
sinks us to float
on this:
our windows,
alarmingly sharp,
let in
or reflect,
eitherway
flashing extreme.

Hologram colors
spout from our souls
should we open
and dare of the world.
Cellophane glass,
now broken ajar --
shards vaulted aloft
and free.






synapse


heartbeat-
ing fast as
stars fret in bits
and pieces of glass;
memory thoughts,
drops of a lark,
desist.

night presses on,
we are dark drowning soon,
but hope is in leaves
falling from trees --
autumn comes quick,
though winter is still.

and then it is spring,
seeded of dawn,
and all is renewed,
like my roots under you,
cossettes of nests in true.

youth disappears,
now tumbling quick,
but newness finds us
like the stars of our hearts --
and our wishfulling end
then finds a start.