Tesseract
An ornament of sorts, all lines converged
A dream, a voice a touch a face lost in many speckled time beyond to
beyond
***
concentrated into one but torn … into two
bodies
I woke up same as always; dust and weeds stretching out to the horizon, smeared into a pixelated fake oasis in the distance, shimmering mirage under too-pink clouds; calling your name. I ate a poached egg without salt, drank a glass of water, leaned against the old adobe and closed my eyes.
***
Silence.
***
I still know you. The universe turns and flows. The future does not beckon.
The season shines, blown glass silver; no flint, no tar. Music lurks, brightening the corners; Bach, Paganini, Chopin. We talk through our lives, together and apart and I will not ever leave you. Somehow we sleep in the crazed remnants of wrapping paper, lighting the tree, carving the roast — you hold my hand as we fall asleep — and I dream myself awake, sit at table, watch the world come up.
***
My children awaken each in their separate nest and spiral in to this oh-so-temporary center of all things. We know the blessing. Only one car fails to start; they rumble homeward laden, full.
***
Crystal egg-glasses
Chime out unbeholden hours
Music stirs the nog
***
Tomorrow I need to repair the shed roof, call the insurance company, call the dentist, sleep in.
Maybe.
The desert is perfect for long walks, alone. It has been so long. Thoughts echo the rhythm of my steps, pushing out past the willows, the arroyo, into the sun and greasewood. Sagebrush is the pyre of my sleep-waking thought, tendrils of delicate aroma teasing me into dusty slumber, a walking dream, stepping past planetary into nebulae scintillating through hair, dust and thunder rolling into everlasting night.
***
Alone.
***
Walking home with the memories.
Always known just barely out of reach but smiling standing behind me, urging, pushing, straining ahead pulling up and out,
together
***
memory pulls me
back
to you
All lines converged,
an ornament of sorts.
for Marcy
