Descent

Adam & Eve, Gustav Klimt

We sit on the green banks of the swelling river.

Every morning—like this one—a random

tree branch, its leaves kissed by the wind,

unspools its longing, shattering the sun

into asymmetric filaments of gold.

No one is here to see this;

it is ours alone.

What was it we used to say about broken light?

That it reveals itself as

orbs in flight, willowing

through the separating skies.

I recall our stunted conversation, our timid words,

emerging from the dance of breath and tongue with teeth.

I remember, too, your distant laughter, peeled from

your throat by the white heat of late July.

Have we known one another too long?

Oh, there is no escaping

this fugue of imagination!

You appear in me, and speak to me in tongues

once confined without pardon.

And what can I do but—as if for

the very first time—entrench myself

within the impermanence of you?

* * * * * * * * *

NOTE: My first poetry chapbook, From Darkness, Beatitudes, is available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press until April 25, 2014.

Click here to pre-order now!