They had nothing to say to each other

They had nothing to say to each other.
Quite simply, they had exhausted all possible phrasings, rebuffs and and rebuttals. They sat on the cold front stoop of their solitary cabin, nestled amidst dramatically colored maples.
She sighed.
He turned, glancing at her over his shoulder. The sun was rising behind her, creating halos, making her angelic. The sigh that had escaped from her lips clouded in the late October air, swirling towards the cloudless sky. Why could she not understand? It was not his choice to go away. Leaving was one of the last things he wanted to do. But the paper crumpled in his pocket declared that he must.
He sighed, stretching, shivering from the brush of cold air around his belly, his neck, as his bomber jacket shifted with him. The concrete they sat on was cold, and frosted leaves crunched underfoot as he extended his legs. Could he run away? No. If he ran she be be as equally forbidden as if he went to where he was bid. He encircled her shoulders in his arm, entangled a hand in straight caramel hair. She leaned into him, breathing the sharp fall air, the old leather of his jacket, the faintest whiff of his cologne.
They had talked all night. She was tired, scared but accepting. There was no option in which he stayed. In any case, given a few months, her own summons would come, and she would answer the door, peering out into the hard noon light, into the stern faces of the officers who had come, finally, to take her away.
She reached her arm, untangling his hand from her hair, intertwining her fingers with his. She stood, bringing him with her, back through the door of the cabin, back up the stairs to the unslept-in bed. She placed a cool hand on his cheek, and they looked each other in the eyes. She nodded and he crumpled into her shoulder, crying. She led him to the edge of the bed, and sat beside him.
They would be woken by the harsh rappings at the cabin door, hours later. He would answer the summons now, and she would follow meager months later. They would meet again, in the city, the smog filled dome, no longer the same, still not strangers, but not quite friends.

Jerusalem Winter

Amidst the mist, a rainbow in the lights of the city,

prolonged joy melding with ever present

sadness

longing

a sense of urgency

drawing breath

and slow exhale.

Cold.

filling

as time and space

collide and in confusion, we repeat

raze and rebuild

raze and raise

Streets reveal countless memory and history

together we walked

in glory

and exile

swarming gateways and bridges

searching for an in

Golden Jerusalem,

washed and rainshined,

May I forget my own right hand

if I forget you,

and my tongue cleave to my palette,

so the I may sin(g) no more.

and so the mist rises,

raze and rebuild

be raised,

be rebuilt.

Apology

This is an apology for my behavior.

I am sorry. I didn't know. But somehow, it seems, in my ignorance I have been more than I at first comprehended. I am sorry for the times I have resented being relied upon. For the times I was evasive and did not try to maintain a connection, and rather depended on what remained to outlast and be there, ready to be dusted off when convienient. It seems I was a life preserver, a shield and a diary. And entirely unaware.

You have shown me the separation between everyone's perceptions. I thought I was a passive aggressive flake for four years. You say I am a "true friend."

Perception.

Life is all about perception.

And I will not forget that again.

Thank you for the reminder. I'll keep it close to me.

Guilt

This not the storm I expected. Guilt holds me, because of my bad advice, my presumptions. Anything to help her get better. Right. Anything not to make it worse.

"It"- unclear pronoun reference. How many times spent as a trigger, as the domino to send the rest of them down? Twice, that I can, beyond doubt, put to myself. A third time, maybe, but who knows.

Anything to keep her safe.

But maybe there's what I can't help, what I can't control.

Children grow up, don't they? I mean, every parent has to deal with this, right?
You can only be there as much as time permits. As long as they'll allow you to listen. I can't make their decisions for them.


I can barely make decisions for myself.

______________________________

Maybe we need to re explore the difference-- the divide-- between wants and needs. And really, really, define heartbreak, because I think that's a hyperbole here.

Maybe we should put life in perspective. Even if we don't need to feel guilty for our misdemeanors doesn't mean we should continue, just because it's not a fullfledged crime.

But why do I feel guilty for crimes I did not commit?
..........................................................

Take a deep breath, a moment.

I think for myself.
I create myself.
I live for more purposes than I can fathom,

And


I love you.

Rhetoric

Sometimes your movements are too practiced
_and hence I cannot heed your words
_the precise snaking out of the wrist
__to emphasize a point
To my eye
_the motion appears in time lag
_with the words
_ as happens when the audio track
_does not match the visual track
I am disconcerted
_ already uncomfortable
__in rehearsal
_before we donned
__blue robes
_before we marched down
_the slanted aisle
For the last
________dreaded
performance
______of our high school careers

Repetiton without respite

beautiful boy,

I mislead myself down the aisle of my mind,
blaming you for the silence
but not the empty
golden light is a nourishment

and a nostalgia.
faded glory and uns(c)ene plays
regrettably
defended.

Could I defend my (in)action,
tell myself that all is done,
and done for all
time, relativity,

and peace....

Sometimes the I wish for freedom,
for I tire of these games.
It is like reincarnation,
repetition without respite

Cinnamon air
and playing for keeps.

Poets

Have you wondered why we are poets,

blessed and damned to wander

the streets of these cities,

countries,

lands,

until we findlose/losefind ourselves in them

and epiphanize and eulogize

the future that has passed?