poetry

waiting stuck in my throat

wisps tenors low high above my cries

tree talk i overheard sound of my heart an ancient ache

the moon burnt fire spread elements merged and i

we lost much seasons butterflies fireflies compassion oranges that looked like them but tasted of pesticides we lost much self

I am feeding a part of an ancestral threadfilling the space with memories; the tradition of farewellsnever becomes old –paving

dreams of molten fleshone on top of the otherin eternal embracemouths opena scream frozen inTimemoon cyclespainfully endlesshands rise to pray

cobwebscreaking doorspeeling painta floor with stains of time-~the topography of years falling leavesfaint remembrancesnot enough of a daylanguid evenings~the topography

the olive trees have diedbeneath them lieolives and the children of falestinesmoke chokes the lungsthat stopped strugglingfor breadthandtheairlicks fear off

you look atdaysweeksmonthsyears –andthey look back withsurprise:like a dead man’s eyesstaring at the void-the promised paradisea mere last gasp of