each one of your “why?”s
recalls me to my closure of perception, where
each object contains its own answers.
I stopped, with time, in questioning
my fund of questions, not
asking if there were others I should ask.
Each of your questions is a puncture
in the structure of my thoughts,
and while at times the ready answer
forms the plaster to restore it,
I think, my child, we’d better now
expand each hole into a doorway.
You can play beyond my world.
I would fear, I know,
to live without regrets.
The tap continually running.
The drain unguarded.
I will not watch my life dilute
and swirl away.
I’ll trust in value; regret
and fond rememberings…
the two go hand in hand, each
one hand free to lay their touch
upon each future past, in filtering
through my present.
The bathtub leaks,
yet I’ll plug the void as best I can,
standing strong within the shower of atoms
each tainted by my touch,
I’ll seek to treasure and regret.
I’ll set my feet within the swirl-
ing fullness of my life.
We lived each other in simplicity,
and lazed around the house, relaxed,
and hummed our own vibrations in our bed.
We played the cadence of our resonance,
distorted, sagged defeat.
Until, at last, the distance pulled us tighter,
strained, until we pitched back into peace.
And under strain, we gripped,
until, too taut, we snapped.
And that is all.
Just dreadful waves of silence,
the whiplash on my cheek.