Sunday, October 17, 2010 - early morning

She sits
across the table
a dividing surface,
captive to the distance

between
her now, and always
wondering if he knows
that her love falls towards

a break
in the original
heat, the fire, the burning
open of fear, that stole

her heart
and threatens sanity
as a weapon, a wound
to bleed out devotion

until
only calm regard rests
behind eyes once fitted
with a rose washed belief -

and the
table seems now, in the 
spell of this wound, to loom
at the cusp of never...

Friday, October 15, 2010 - afternoon

Sand, flies in the face
of it, and darkly shadowed
sideways, her eyes flit,
from place to space, emptied
of her hallowing,
of her holy moment,
of the exact instant, when
she forgot to differ
her eyes, and the pacing of them,
from her sight, from what she saw -
forgot to remember the end of childhood, where seamlessness fails,
and the adolescent picks at strings,
and figments, faltering along these
edges of experience where self and world confront
each other
with what has shattered,
and faltering, sand in her eyes, her face an it,
a thing in the mirror, seen,
an object, muddled by dust and dirt,
faltering,
she breaks even, only to
forget once more that her eyes
do not belong in the picture,
as she's seeing it...