Monday, June 3, 2013


In the light of the day,
I fear we are
Much too far,
You and I.

The charcoal waits to erode graciously,
Like a sugar cube on the tongue, 
In drawing the curves of a cat's tail
Or a still eyelash of the same girl
I've drawn since I was five. 

Instead, I pretend that the paper 
And my dusty, grey fingers are
Much too far,
Like you and I.

But when I raise my head
And the sun has set
Leaving no embers
Like my crumbling charcoal, 
I draw a line from my heart
Shooting straight into the sky
Where stars have waited for all of eternity,
One for each of our hearts.
And one for us to meet halfway.

So when the dots are joined
On earth and in the sky,
There we are,
Not so far.
You and I. 


Who breaks away

In forgetting that there 
are two untouchables born
every time touching you 
becomes a taboo.

For I become one too.

Like the side of the glacier that
has thawed too soon from the
rest of the mass,
So thaws a part of me, too soon.
And wrenches away.

Who breaks away

and measures how great
is the fissure that remains,
for it will take looking back.

In acquitting oneself from the whole,
two untouchables are born -
But who shall grab your ankles
and help you wrench away 
From the drifting two?

For I become one too.