A fingernail moon rises in reverse as
a star spark ignites the horizon.
Sun-dogs lap at dew frost, leaving
delicate tongue prints on windows, and
face down in the waning dim
I lap at slumber, dreaming of endless sidewalks.
But, sidewalks are for strangers and
will not lead me to you.
You, a paradox…
an 8 tipped on its side; fire flakes
dancing with snow.
A humbling parallax of radiance
To find you, one must always
walk the periphery of change; know
that your migrations are limited
only by imagination. To recognize
you, one must never be
of the same mind twice.
I am drawn to you, like
frost is to faces; frost to frozen windows
in this early dawn, and
births an afternoon,
baffling dreams will slide
from my dilated mind…
memories of something yet
This poem is extremely old, and I am putting it here to remind myself that I used to be able to string words together in a way that satisfied that…itch. You know the itch.