Song of the Cicadas

Sometimes I can still feel

Your fingers tracing lazy circles

On my shoulder

Your arm draped around me

On a summer’s night

The taste of honey and whiskey

On my tongue

The song of the cicadas

Humming beneath the lines of Shakespeare

As we watched a play in the park

A phantom touch

That feels like yesterday

And not years ago

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NPM: Just Another Book

I keep the book you gave me

On my mantel as decor

Nothing more

I see it every day

My eyes skate past it

As I go about my routine

The rhythms of a solitary life

Or if I see it, it’s just a part of

My collected pieces on display

One book of a few

Until today

When my eyes lit on it

And I thought of you

And the memory stuck fast

Like a bramble to my skin

A pang that dulled to an ache

For what was or might have been

I hope it will go back to being

Just another book again

The Dying of a Dream

I dreamed of what my life could be

Of cities, loves, and being free

To win a heart, to take a name

To weather change, to stay the same

I dreamed of music building slow

I dreamed a whisper, close and low

Beloved face, familiar form

I dreamed the other pillow warm

But cold the bed, the empty home

I wake to find myself alone

Things are not as they had seemed

And thus, the dying of a dream

Still Searching

In knowing him
My heart is satisfied
My soul is justified
There is nothing more I need
And still I’m searching for something
If I really knew him
I would know peace
Would know content
But all I see of him
is a blurry silhouette

Every glimpse I’ve had of him
stirs my heart
But glimpses aren’t enough
to sustain deep, abiding love
I need to stare, to watch,
to study long and hard
this one whose beauty
captivates and mesmerizes
if only looked at truly

NPM: Live Gloriously

I’ve heard that life can be more
And that once you’ve tasted
Once you’ve seen
It’s unforgettable
I don’t think I have that kind of life
A life that is like the smoldering carnelian sun
Setting over the Serengeti
I look up and instead of majestic skies
I see stoplights and electric wires
And fluorescent signs promoting “The Whopper”
I dream of that other life
The one that moves your primal soul
And brings tears to your awe-widened eyes
But I don’t know how to get there
How to live gloriously
So I just keep asking
Hands open and empty
Waiting to receive

NPWM Day 6: The Planet’s Sun

The sun cannot feel its own heat

It does not know why

the planets recoil from it

and spin further and further away

Aeon by aeon, an expanding galaxy

And yet those same planets

cannot resist the sun’s pull

Its gravity draws them, holds them

in beautiful harmony

All drift slowly away

and yet remain entranced

like shy lovers in a dance

Their steps measured by a symphony of millenia

But one dancer,

the smallest and nearest planet to the sun,

cannot help but love the blazing star

and unlike all the others who stay far,

draws nearer, nearer still

Though its surface grows scorched

and cracked, and its seas

evaporated at the sun’s first kiss

it dares to approach in bliss

It knows no other desire

than to be closer

Closer

And one day, it will fall into that fiery embrace

and be consumed

And its last thought will be

not of regret

but ecstasy

How Does A Heart Break?

 

How does a heart break?

Is it a glass falling to the ground?

A scatter of shards and

the irredeemable sound

of fractures, too many to repair?

Is it sudden, complete?

Is one left standing

in the circle of glittering pieces

staring at the refracted light,

trembling hands empty, and empty inside?

 

How does a heart break?

Is it the slow shifting of a fault-line,

a grinding pressure, a bit at a time?

Does it compress and harden

under all the weight?

Collapse in on itself, until a great

seismic shudder of energy

surges and presses out

and throws everything around

into chaos?

 

How does a heart break?

Is it a stone in a river,

silent and still?

Letting the persistent waters of grief

wash over it, years upon years,

until the river’s tears

have worn away any definition

and it is smooth and unresisting?

Little by little, day by day,

does it give itself away

so there’s nothing left to take anymore?

So it can’t be robbed

by the constant throb

of pain or loss or longing?

 

How does a heart break?

Is it a glass, a quake, a stone?

Does your heart feel these things?

I know only my own.