stilts.
2006-07-13 12:07 a.m.
it doesn't burn. it doesn't kindle. it doesn't keep me awake at night. my eyes don't show their struggle. my mouth never moves. my teeth have married the desert, and theycling to one another, bone and sand and nervous tension, quick
to fall back into order, to go unnoticed, to shift and then become pretensions. quick to cover up and be forgotten.
quick to let the hurt set in.
each syllable, a reminder - these words
will spur no action, are not in order, are tumbled, baring up at one another, and each one
bristles, claims
it's only been a week.
stages, a suggestion that we both nearly
tasted
fell in love with, unconscious - we
step through grief as though it was scripted, some death
that comes up just in time to remind us,
"stay focused, there is still goodness in life."
but we cannot define it, cannot fingerprint and name it, can not be sure we've claimed it, cannot name it, "mine".