In the same way breezeless trees are still,
I ask for nothing,
only to be.
Today is another demand,
the deep churning of time that quickens
that which falls silently into the hole
till nothing is left
but the final sleep of exhausted flowers.
If I could translate this,
this thin string of old light,
it would be the loneliness
of a single shoe left behind.
If I could wake up and forget your absence,
this empty heart would be less heavy.
I dare say nothing. Nothing.
Only, I have spoken a few words too many.
Across a blue smear
wind-scattered clouds break apart.
They say nothing,
not even thank you
to the kindness of the wind,
for its long body touches
each cloud’s demise.
The wind is blind, so it only touches,
still, it is possible to leave,
to break apart,
to enter the hole without feeling,
to feel nothing
for what we leave behind.
This poem was first published in ‘Lost Coast Review’
Editor: Casey Dorman
from my Fourth Book-Length manuscript
©dah / dahlusion 2014
all rights reserved