Saturday, August 4, 2007

renounce


with baby steps and with the lights off

carefully navigating the treacherous minefield of memory

stumbling around in the dark grasping for color

something substantial, tactile and solid...

she lives there on the elusive crests of the dreaming

so often in frozen moments of black and white

reclining on a cold stone there in a clearing

she's stretched in mimicry of our future

painted black lines on her face

to blend in with the thin chill

grey

early November branchscape

breaking away as filtered starlight surrenders

to the inevitable dawn

2 comments:

JOHNo said...

Damn, this is a great line:

"she's stretched in mimicry of our future"!

snakedance said...

many thanks for the comment:)
this was unfortunatly a very true story...

time does in fact heal all though it turns out...