spoken word

Hyacinth garden

I remember your mysterious narratives the history of an extraordinary speech.

Now those words are light whispers disappearing like dragonfly wings out of reach.

A telephone rings impatiently, unrequited.

The ringing stopped and stillness chided.

Like a pantomime to past desire.

My name lost in the crackling wire.

Night is and that is all.

It built black brick wall

My vision becomes ink


the burgundy ground, I stop to think

I raise my head

Those words you said

I listen closely

But fail to find an answer

As if I

carry water in a sieve.

Pouring like tears

look it in the eye.

With an ear to the ground

should I wave my hand around and around?

And can’t hear your goodbye

It is like I never heard the slam of your spoken word.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

three years away

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sanctus's picture

delightful write

delightful write