10 Apr 2017

Reflection Upriver

Wouldn’t say I dislike change.
That’s one river I wouldn’t swim against,
unlike salmon without the nuisance of self-doubt.
Through a constant medium comes
banks burst in tests of character,
and languid seasons when the sun’s milky
heat thins that flow to simple streams
whose fords form false promise—but I rant;
water is life.

No, what I like most is
    pillars still standing in place in face of wind that bites,
        decay;
    walls that, like books, tell stories they must, and
        (especially) those they don’t have to;
    beaten old doors, paint flaked, that still remember    
        where they lead to, patient.
If you’ll let me define beauty: resilience.

6 Apr 2017

Heard

It comes through worn plaster,
reverberating past the pale
cold of a sideways landscape,
vibrations of something
shy, eluding words.

There it is
and then you know.
Smile; have a tear
pulled from your eye.
Move along walls
searching for doors, a window—a way
to the source, or
just a glimpse.

Then, nothing:
the moment’s fled.

Exposed like old photographs,
memory of the serene
becomes sun-bleached, gloss
lost, a paper testament defiled.
The light of day is the cruellest thing.