Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Please, Be Gentle

I do not know you, yet I feel you gone
I sense your absence
Like a closet hanger
stripped of the garments
that kept it warm.
Those cotton curves now filled
by something else.
Shoulder, hip, knock-knees.
Or maybe a heap on the floor
Billows from the vent
next to the closet door.
I feel you gone.
I sense your absence
Like a castaway
Waking from the dream
of a ship that came for rescue
a prop plane that saw
the flare gun.
But there are no flares to be found
No dry wood for smoke signals
No books, no music
no sympathy.
Just miles and miles of coastline
and unbreakable palm trees.
I feel you gone
I sense your absence
like a mouth looking for words
in another language.
Intonations it cannot comprehend.
Shapes and meanings
it cannot imagine
because it has not studied this tongue.
No pictures, no context clues.
Stories it longs to tell,
but can't.
I feel you gone.
I sense your absence
like the frame of film
Misses the image
it has yet to capture.
A celluloid square
thus far unexposed
with a thin emulsion
Wanting only for light and shadow.
A thousand words painted
by a second in the sun.
An open shutter
and a window to the world.
I sense your absence
the space you have yet to fill.
I feel you not yet arrived.

(Winter/Spring 2009)