a joy ride for phantoms, a free fall, a playground
spread across april, on my side beside a merry go
round still turning in rounded momentum from the last child
or all children that had ever ridden,
not to mention the wind's encore against rusted resistence,
nonetheless.
nonetheless, the ride goes on and i watch: white,
yellow, black, red chipped horse ~ just a flash; an equine face ~
looks the same as every cold steel horse i ever straddled
since i was that child dizzied and seeking a safe point to fix
my eyes on. from here, coming at me over and over, changing
color, never getting closer, round and round and nothing
at center holding it down while light's great speed pins me
right where i am, grown and bound. i need not even
hold on. my finger's have pressed against heaven for
so long, the universe has left its whorled signature at their tips.
still, it matters little what i grip; i'm held by what holds me.
i loved him yes.
in this, there's no true past-tense. in his arms there were
no words - when i've no words, i'm closest to god ... eloquent
in my very presence. i'd have wanted to tell him ~ all that spun
beyond my vision ... i'd have needed to try and convey; changing
colors, for him, oncoming horses in
an onslaught of memories at bay and just shy of
clean recollection ... inexplicably burning behind
my ribs and my eyes while just a few blades
of grass, pale and unsure, cut at
my cheek, only to bleed themselves ... riding
winter's end towards springs beginning. when i stood,
i was dizzy. when i stood, my body's print
was left across the weak earth. my imprint
overlaid and shifting, permanently altered by the fact
of his presence - even in his absence, there's no true past-tense.
- click link below -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TduBag2IrII
