An Invisible Path

there is no right future
or wrong past
or regrettable present

these paths we find ourselves on are translucent.
The molecules shifting in and out of physical realms
failing to maintain any kind of consistency we
can hold in our aching hands for
more than the fleeting moment it
takes to look over our shoulder, and
return our gaze to the front – only to find
the scenery has betrayed our memory.

I have decided not to look forward or
to dwell in my footsteps, but rather set my sights
inward where the path cannot dictate which direction
my life should take. Where there are no
shades of right or wrong or regrettable.
Only a moment.
Only me.
Something I can trust.

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White Darkness

Thunderbolts and black seas, waves crashing against aged sand turned to rock.
A winter sky blanketed with stars, against a backdrop of spilled ink;
Summer’s darkest hours no match for the stubborn December dusk.

Proof

Dragging cold graphite across balmy skin

never leaving its mark, too light to be seen with any contrast

Oh how the fine point curls and crawls

as it struggles to make an indent

Applying pressure, looking for a kind of proof

that will carry on

Showing, without a shadow of a doubt —

something was there.

The After

Someday –

I will find you here, in the place where
you now stay and will remain forever.

The after, and the before.
the accessible and the invisible.
You appear to me
and I am reminded that you
are a figment of my heart
willing your presence to be
as tangible as you always were.

This is the after.
I’ve yet to become acquainted with it,
still feeling the vacancy
of the before.
The place I can never again visit.
I will not find you there
no matter how desperately I long to.

I would like to stay awhile in
the memory of you.
So that I might take with me
all we once were able to see
in that place.
You’re here now,
but I think I choose not to see you.

My heart breaks a thousand times
in just one moment spent
here – in the after.
You have moved on.
I am struggling to join you.
You have departed this world,
and yet it is me who feels like a ghost
unable to embrace
the reality
of a life that goes on
after you.

To Know You

Your eyes sweep impatiently
across my face,
as if you are searching
for me in my features –
hoping that the curve
of my cheek will open a
door into the past, telling
of pain I have endured.
The pink in my lips may
betray me, showing you
all the words I dare not
speak, but wish to hear
out loud. Studying shadows
that linger beneath my
eyes – eyes that are
staring straight back to
you, working tirelessly to
not be found out, by a
swift blink or downward
glance.
I feel you not speaking –
fearful, perhaps, of
missing a moment when
the light may fall upon
my lashes, communicating
all the ways the world
has left them damp or
rubbed raw.
I do not ask you what
you are thinking
I too am searching –
waiting. For any sign
that you want me to
know you,
the way you are endeavoring
to know me.
Faces turned inward,
cascades of silence
flow through gazes
speaking volumes of love;
deafeningly loud and impossibly
clear.