What a pity that we can only feel change –
the trains steadying into their stations
or the jet engines screaming toward lift-off.
How quickly can we lose track
of the speed at which we travel.
The interminable spin of the wheel.
The unstoppable march of time.
And the fact that our pace must be slowed
to remember how fast we once ran.
In my dreams I can still love you.
I can forget the things we did to each other.
And fate hasn’t yet begun to conspire
the machinations which would drive us apart.
when it’s not merely
the sound of your voice
or the brush of your hand
that quickens my soul so.
But the shape of the letters
that form your sweet name –
meaningless in any other form.
I’ve studied their curves.
Taken comfort in their lines.
Written them in permanent ink
on the very folds of my being.
These ribs have been charred black with soot from the combustion of this burning heart – a fire fed by the very act of drawing breath. I am consumed by this world, and in tandem, tumultuous form I am become of it.