what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice
When I woke, I needed worlds of time and space
to press my face hard to the bed while my soul talked
and talked, up and over all angles, closed the case
and opened it again, convinced me, and then chalked
on the pavement the cost, the outline of a marriage, unravelable as lace,
until here I am, my core made molten, my mind forked
three ways, binding the wild and harvesting grace
enough to scuff lightly over streets the masters walked.
I am anticipation, the crosswinds that blow
impatience, the assassination of practicalities. So we talked
around the subject until whip-edged honesty bloomed. I traced the furrow
in the mirror, ploughed deep and true when I chalked
up the score, what it will be, what it will mean to throw
such outrageous tidings into other’s ideals, but the forked
tongues who will sing their songs of woe
will fade in future ears, when I return to the streets the masters walked.
la anima, with the head as captain and the heart as guide,
is prone to misgivings and playing safe, but when all three talked
lightly of not returning home, they hadn’t lied.
the thought of flight to all that came before leaves a chalked
flavour, dashed with salt, in the gaps between cyprus and tide
and the wash of white where cliffs kiss sea, charting that moment my path forked.
these worlds of days of heat and home debride
my tattered spirit in the streets where the masters walked.
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