Part Two : Conversations in an Amber Jar
I was surprised you can still sleep.
Why, does the cat cry?
I do not speak of it now, as the waves rush in to kiss the shore. Nor will it alleviate much, to justify dreams – just empty promises to the owls and falling stars.
Remember – what I want to do – what I can do? I will always be paid,…. soon. Always……. I am counting the beads, as is written, it allows you to cry. It is possible to divine the repair of credulity in the dissonance, like wisps waltzing with firelight and embers. Instead of barren prospects and shattered dreams, you and your children now know the meaning of art; petition the storehouse of sand in your hands.
All of us, we can do it together, bare feet dancing a slow silent dance on the beach, with dreams between the toes. There is a good sea still waiting for those who hope.
He has the courage. I think it means that there is more happiness for the oversensitive.
Red, sing happy dog –
Wagging tail runs in greeting,
Welcomes the waves’ chorus.
If you hit me ……. I will shout to the clouds of whispers made in dark corners of empty rooms and conversations in amber jars. Oh, how I wish I still had a piano.
Remember, how it sat in the room, like an animal waiting to be acknowledged ? You could see the tree growing around the vibrating strings – tiny hammers beating time on our souls.
separation, melody –
in an amber jar……..
Memories pour down
the pain into mountain’s roots –
regrets rise up.
Clouds slide over blue,
It will cross the horizon –
Salt spray stings seconds………
dowager maiden –
the sea smiles and waves.
Blue, he had to do too many –
promises please, the rubella and broken caresses diving down.
** He motions to indicate a fever sailing into port,
wisps waltzing with firelight and embers. **
Amber jars buzzing,
honey drips from the lips’ pores,
sweet Memory’s shore…….
Birds sail by, waltzing,
wisps between sky and sea catch
love’s embers, child’s play.
Catching a love-glance –
a fever sails into port,
children playing dare…….
Golden sand castles
rising up under sun-tide,
child’s play forgotten.
You can, if you want to see our love, you can. You … and I, parallel auras, tears of Rue Bedlam.
Art of Kroième has fallen this day. They say she grew up by the swift currents, on the side of the mountain.
There were only scattered paintbrushes left behind. Did you know ? She left us imperfect instructions.
– Immediate response to advantageous pastel paths –
Listen as the sea makes the moon groan,
Touch the image in the usual sense,
Observe the performance of the coral psalms,
Read the doggerel dance steps,
Hold the light in an amber jar.
Do this before the last goodnight kiss,
Lest the sand falls in defacement.
I am counting the beads, as is written, it allows you to cry.