Distance – Page 39

the lobsterman’s wife
watching the lighthouse at the
dying of the day
–
silent passage-
darkening water
laps the shore

underneath my bed
photos of my childhood
slowly fading lies
–
an old cigar box-
sacred relics
of my youth

pockets of moonlight
across the rippled surface
of a mountain lake
–
midnight water-
still dragonflies
dimple the surface

home with my regrets
I should have asked for a kiss
when I had the chance
–
your upturned lips-
moths flutter
in the porch light

alone on the road
speeding towards oblivion
far away from you
–
velvet panic-
our safe word
forgotten

in the line of fire
standing while the others fall
I am bulletproof
–
rising smoke-
the doe startled
bounds away

pinpoints of starlight
fall from the firmament and
streak across the sky
–
midnight-
lines of fire
split the sky

a candle and spoon-
the bare bulb above her head
casts a harsh shadow
–
on the corner-
slowing headlights
catch the rain

feeling quite tired-
always the one left behind
cleaning up your mess
–
monday morning –
waiting for
the phone call

I crawl into bed
too tired to fall asleep
reliving the day
–
a warm breeze-
awake in my bed
paralyzed