Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

xv. Lateral
Snowstorm in the mountains. A carriage
awaits passage. Someone speaks of home.
The wish one suffers and sings for. One & many,
slow & hurry. Someone speaks of home, rising evermore.
I think of one girl, then another, past, present.
Spell, shaping. I think of trees along a snowy
road. This yearning’s diminishing music. Hope direct
& lateral across the heart.
Someone speaks of home. Other days will bounce,
scatter shivers through flesh thin with happy
memory. She resists departure. I allow, she
denies. I look elsewhere, she follows, comments.
Derides what is other, less. I’m dreaming her
again. Then I dream other things. Nocturnes
rush & recede about her. Still. Golden hours
gone. A thousand miles from anywhere.
Snow a deep wet bell for hope pliant to
burrow. Hope: your face, your eyes, the blooming
scent of your abyss. I love you. Everything
shifts. Little lets go. Noise of nature’s morning prayers.
Springtime snowstorm. Child wailing for home.
Words flatten with longing, something,
someone. Anywhere. You. Forlorn, I tap a wing,
await a companion. Think of music’s restless crave.
***
57
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005