Old Now — Rosemary & Garlic
Naima — John Coltrane
Back to Autumn — Tall Heights
River — Leon Bridges
The Flood — Joshua Hyslop
my nephew’s favorite animal
(as much as one can have at 18 months)
is a giraffe.
I never noticed how wonderful they are:
dancer-sturdy legs that support their
elegant audrey hepburn necks,
their slow, precise movements.
they survey everything and nothing,
hindered by their long-limbed life.
It’s all just alliteration and irony.
I’m not a writer.
I want to be, though.
Sometimes, I want to be a submarine
lay low, thrive in an underwater haze;
undulate with the corral and weeds;
breaking darkness and subduing silence.
friends and lovers come and go
above me, conversations drift from dream to dream,
while I stay below
heavy and forgotten
tintinnabulation forces me further into a sunken shell
and I’m stuck between my preservation
and your presence.
I’m heavy in my needs,
waiting, weighted and sure of my surroundings
I shift, sift alone with my thoughts, comforted by depth.
my hardened exterior basks
in gratuitous and insincere sunshine
yesterday, I found myself immersed
in his thoughts, his lilt, his words:
A perfect, gorgeous, heavy word
that stung my heart with purpose.
For now I live in my head
and simply breathe from my heart.
but my dreams, my love, they live
behind my lids, sifting near the surface—
undulating ‘neath pupils and neurons,
I dream your face into existence,
your eyes, too. your precious lashes
that caress your soul and I wake to find it all
Blinking, dismayed, I close them again,
hoping to find you again in a world
that now only exists in dreams,
in minds, we wait.