Convers[at]ion

i

Sweat cools in pools across my face and chest, as invisible traffic sighs like rain above the crackling grass.  My breath hurls the clutter from my mind like a lover betrayed.  The Autumn sky glows, unencumbered.

the creek still and silent
in the dust across the bridge
footprints stop half-way

I feel like I’ve been sitting here for years, in this sheltered patch of green, seeing nothing to go back to, too timid to move on.

silhouettes of ducks
the last dim sunlight
under desperate wings

I speak of isolation to the sunset until the colour drains from the sky, which fills with a flood of fruit bats, too loud, too high, too resolute to hear.  The dusk, in its dying breath, says, “go: there’s nothing here but me, and I’ll be waiting wherever you fly.”

from the horizon
blinking lights are rising
to meet Jupiter

An excerpt from this was published at Stylus (April 2009), which prompted me to think about what wasn’t working with the rest of it. This is the first part of the edited version, with two parts to follow.

i

Sweat cools in pools across my face and chest, as invisible traffic sighs like rain above the crackling grass.  My breath hurls the clutter from my mind like a lover betrayed.  The Autumn sky glows, unencumbered.

the creek still and silent

in the dust across the bridge

footprints stop half-way

I feel like I’ve been sitting here for years, in this sheltered patch of green, seeing nothing to go back to, too timid to move on.

silhouettes of ducks

the last dim sunlight

under desperate wings

I speak of isolation to the sunset until the colour drains from the sky, which fills with a flood of fruit bats, too loud, too high, too resolute to hear.  The dusk, in its dying breath, says, “go: there’s nothing here but me, and I’ll be waiting wherever you fly.”

from the horizon

blinking lights are rising

to meet Jupite

i

Sweat cools in pools across my face and chest, as invisible traffic sighs like rain above the crackling grass.  My breath hurls the clutter from my mind like a lover betrayed.  The Autumn sky glows, unencumbered.

the creek still and silent

in the dust across the bridge

footprints stop half-way

I feel like I’ve been sitting here for years, in this sheltered patch of green, seeing nothing to go back to, too timid to move on.

silhouettes of ducks

the last dim sunlight

under desperate wings

I speak of isolation to the sunset until the colour drains from the sky, which fills with a flood of fruit bats, too loud, too high, too resolute to hear.  The dusk, in its dying breath, says, “go: there’s nothing here but me, and I’ll be waiting wherever you fly.”

from the horizon

blinking lights are rising

to meet Jupiterr

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