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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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helma object publisher


Wednesday, 7. August 2002

Law of Gravity



Littered around my room are books.
Books lounging, gathering dust
small ones below bigger ones,a tottering
column when I nudge them a little;

Supplying an apt metaphor for those
days we had tread on shared laughter
and yellow light thrown by the lamp
on your window sill. Those were the small
things, the minor details, happiness too
perhaps, that lived before the assault of
Big Ambitions, borrowed and adopted.
It lead to the closing of the doors
and snapping of the wires.
I know now I was placing smaller books
first, perhaps I didn't see the larger ones.

Also this I know,one needn't be a board
certified physican to heal, it's love that
heals and yours healed me. Thanks.

Now only the remananents are left behind:
a poster of a monastery at dawn,
another dawn just a few days ago
when I woke up feeling suddenly cold, you had
already woken up and were bustling around,
now it's a premature winter in the middle
of a humid summer.

The night is lonely and
I ache to hear your voice. The airlines
have sent me a good fare deal, just another
way that things take me to you, I looked
at it twice to make sure that it was
not a trick because it came a week too late.

I travel tonight in my thoughts
and since you won't wait at the end
of gate A, in your red cardigan anymore
I know there is no arriving for me now.

I trace lines on my skin, inscribed in a
braille like script is your name, followed
by "I was here". I saw such names all above
me in a camp bunkhouse on the rafters once,
"Joey was here, 1995". "Peace people, Amanda 15".

And when I complete the tracing, I remeber
those moles on your skin arrayed like constellations
and me counting them one by one, as if somewhere
I knew such a day would come when I will forfiet
all the rights to count or measure anything that
is yours.

The books have finally tipped and are all over the floor,

words have dried up in my throat and this is all over too.

2002:08:07 01:00 Atlanta




My Poems

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