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Too busy for

That sharp ache,

Somewhere under

This skin’s surface beating,

Far-off,

In some other reality.

Slow my breathing.

 

Too tired to think

About summer’s sunshine,

Laughing,

And wild grass playing

On a mountainside.

Turn my pillow over.

 

In the fragrance of a flower,

In the brilliance of the sun rising,

In the teasing notes of music,

Bits of beauty,

Sound-bites gnawing,

Monsters of attachment,

In the shadows of memory.

 

Without a word,

Or a warning,

The rain is pouring down,

Soaking the ground around me

And somewhere,

Just somewhere,

In my unknowing,

In my unwanting,

It’s okay.

KKLE November 6, 2013

Your Morning Is My Night Sky


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Not sure how this works anymore

Now that your morning is my night sky

Now that your distance is a mirage of my heart.

 

I lie awake between the inhale and exhale of my life,

A flickering fire-pit on the edge of an ocean cliff,

A flame in a dark desert burning bright,

Feeling the meta-cognitive space between us,

A fluid river motion, an ocean current flowing slowly,

Watching a pale paper moon rising

Under a canopy of glittering stars,

And when I dream,

I dream of the morning reflected in your eyes,

A golden, soft stillness over a cup of coffee,

Fragments of light on your skin,

Filtering through leaves of an ancient Oak,

Southern moss-draped limbs of antiquity

Welcoming you home.

Poetry

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© Karen K.L.Espaniola and hinarising.com. 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Karen K.L. Espaniola and hinarising.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.