will you ever catch my tears in a pale bowl
of laced fingers?
will you descend at the moment of integration?
when old wrecks resurface
ghosts man the rigging
and I


and in focus
strip the wallpaper and tear out
a sincere entreaty?
you were always my phantasm
a speck in the eye no cameras
could record
a step and a lifetime just beyond
my reach
I stretched out my hand in lost days
amber and ghostly lunar halo barred floor
saw the negative. but your shadow was only
ever that.

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  1. ….


    beautiful melancholy longing.

    “a pale bowl of laced fingers” (i wish i had written that!!!!) is a lovely image.

    in fact, i love the entire thing. i must make it one of my memories now so i can keep it somewhere…

    i wish you posted poems more often. 🙂

    1. Thank you!

      i wish i had written that

      Yeah, that line reminded me of you.

      Unfortunately, me writing poetry seems to require seems to occur only under a rare combination of circumstances… I have to be up late, with no one to talk to, somewhat innebriated, and listening to mopey music.

      For now, there’s always the archives, few as they are.

  2. I was reading the poem, thinking, “Wow. What an amazingly gorgeous piece of work. I wonder who wrote…” and then I see your name on the side. LOL!

    I concur, a pale bowl of laced fingers is perfect.

    1. Aww, thank you dear 🙂

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