With Every Step, a Fresh Place

With Every Step, a Fresh Place

Patch of water I remember
who held the light
in moon-rough pockets

we will meet again
never

It is your fault
and it is my fault

Maybe we are looking at this
incorrectly
All water is water

so we have re-encountered one another
in sips and showers

Rain along my scalp
Snow furring my pant hem
and meeting my ankle

That ocean over there
That ocean over here

You can’t deny
the resemblance

Bookmarks Links/Bedside Table

Currently reading and enjoying:

• Really intriguing article in the New Scientist, "Mindscapes: The woman who gets lost in her own home" on "developmental topographical disorientation."
• An article about a beautiful looking new game, Lumino City (thanks to my pal Clive for the recommendation!). 
• On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection by Susan Stewart.

Happy weekend, friends!

I Can’t Tell You That, But

I Can’t Tell You That, But

What I can tell you
is that the white begonia
is reaching

but not for you

The flower knows
that the beloved is always near
or soon to return

When the light is back
the flower says

There will never be enough of you
for me to hold

Offering

Offering

Ghosts of the morning that flutter in
and then dissolve once the day decides
what to be

The uncomplicated survives
is not a true saying

Instead may I offer you
All things have swallowed down
the futures which will now not happen

A nesting doll digesting

This is how a body
earns strength

Nocturnal

Nocturnal

This is the lit-up house atop its dark cellar
and both depend on the other
to get seen Here is the park at night
alive and adding to the quiet
Here is the house closing its mouth around
the light

These are cats agreeing to sleep
and the humans floating
on the ponds of their beds
and this is the day slipping away from itself
without desperation