Saturday, January 24, 2009

soft rain-light, uncanny in its resemblance to your first love

Your words grow bloated like steeping cereal puffs, waiting for hours past the timing of your presence. Your atomic shadow left black on the chair, so I spoon feed your ghost till the bowl is empty. Your dribble is charming. How lovely you spit and foam with light-footed tempo and humid precipitation. 

You fall and emboss the outer layers in bubbles, and I am suddenly surrounded. 

This new shape becomes you. Soft on the eyes, cold on the cheek, a natural birth place for steam and reconciliation. I can speak to you with clarity, as your new found formation offers a lasting calm. 

"How long will you stay?"


"I guess your voice hasn't changed."


Still, I see the apology in your rainy frame, a perpetual gift, a never ending birthday. 

Apology accepted. 

I think I will stay inside today. 

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