Wednesday, November 25, 2015

A Migration

Between young mountains and even younger towers
the wind urges me to go still higher
but below where I came from


I swallow the cold
and feel its burn grow in my chest like frost across glass
every breath a lingering specter
how long ago did I come to this middle land
of jagged false stone roads, of pools of ice water
old as the earth


The air its bitter tongue
telling me this is not mine
it's never been mine
I am not from here

Monday, November 16, 2015

Wading

Wading in the tide,
readying my body
I watched the foam laced water rise
edging the blue horizon
higher and higher above my head,


The weight of the ocean collapsing over me
forcing its salty memory into my mouth, my stomach
I taste it deeply
the salt liquefying me from within,
returning this body to water


I dig my feet into the grainy floor
and wait again


for the next epiphany 


that may suck me down into the tide
until the sun is a shadow, and my last breath is gone 
to show me the sky from another side


Did I pass the test
this body floats
I rise to see what comes next
as it curls  itself into a watery fist


Maybe this time.