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
and shadow.

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

when morning
births an afternoon,
baffling dreams will slide
from my dilated mind…
become exquisite
memories of something yet
to happen.

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.


2 thoughts on “Parallax

  1. ~Lady Day says:

    This is exquistite…pure perfection…do not ever forget how to do this..sakes it’s lovely….and this string is the itch I live everyday…so tweeting this for you!

  2. i know the itch, and i love the poem xxxxxxxx

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