Tuesday, August 01, 2017

fallen ...

fallen ...
the air suddenly quakes
shakes into invisible fragments
disjointed and crude
crumbling into uneven
shredded and scattered
no form left to hold
the centre
and even as you cry
"Sweetheart, what is it?"
i am already falling
my hands grasping for a balance
that depends on air
where there is
no air
where space evaporates
into emptiness
an abrupt vacancy
that draws me downward
like the flight of a wounded sparrow
and crashes me
from where i was standing
to explode on the hard earth below

the moment is uneven
the shape of a man forsaken
and the failure certain
even as you reach for me
i am already gone
drifting windward
through your fingertips
and what you once embraced
what you knew as the flesh
invading your flesh
is now a fog of remains
the dust and ashes from which
i was born
and to which i must return
soaring so very high
out of your reach
but know one thing:
if i could only give voice
to the words
i would whisper them to you
one last time
and hope that you would
watch the clouds
form overhead
and understand




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