Searching

She’s home, I said

And then whispered, but it doesn't matter, she won’t hear me

I could yell, I could scream, what good would it do? 

Why is that, you ask?

It’s in the knowing, I say

What is that?  What does that mean, the knowing? 

She hears what she wants to hear, she knows; only she knows, it’s in the knowing

The shadows in her room know

The creak in the floorboard knows

The breeze on the dusty window sill, it knows

The roots growing in the cellar, they know

The damp earth, the shiny leaf

They all know

I wrestle with the truth

I wrestle with the lie

She won’t tell a living soul

She won’t tell, unless I cry

Tight lips

Closed fists

I cry

Eyes shut, downcast where silence is met

Shout down the mountains, the valleys, the rivers and streams, the rocks and trees

Shout down the hills, the plateaus

The desert, the seas

Go to bed.

I’ll tell you in a dream, she said.

Borrowed Time

Speak to me

The clock chimes one

Speak to me

The clock chimes two

Speak to me

The clock chimes three

Sounds of gnashing is heard, metal upon metal, the ancient clock groans; age heightens the ache in old bones; saying it’s time to go.

Down to the street

An intersection

Where all hearts meet

A place where goodbyes are stuck to anger, a reverie of lost hellos tear at the heart; where feet stray, where strangers go, found in humble beginnings; then hands slip aside, allowing darkness to wear the cloak, shuddering, drawing it close. 

Early morning, the clock strikes one

On window’s ledge, she stands

Soon, the clock strikes two

Closing eyes to sleep, she hears the tick of the clock’s reverberating beat.  This time, this time, is it mine; to go, to go from here to nowhere, from here to nowhere on three?

The moon rises over the lake

Her soul

Her soul to take

A Leaf

Photograph by Donna Donato 

Beside a lonely leaf

White on black

Tears are shed

Severed grief

What is done is done

Do I think of you?

This leaf, taken from a tree

Or do I think of me?

Cutting ties

A leaf with purpose

From a tree so fine

It was time

Where does the wind blow, without a trace

Light upon dark, evoking conflicts, secrets

Buried in shades of grays and blacks

A sacrifice, drained of color, of life

Life, a leaf, with or without strife

By itself on the rim of the world

A single leaf across my vision

I think of you, I think of me

Blanched, set free