tablets and december blossoms
at a wooden bench on a hill, I remember feeling the glow of an autumn sunset even though I did not see the sunset since I was staring into a blazing sea of hazel. when the sun set exactly, when the night turned dark, I did not notice. Instead I noticed buttons on surprising shirts, shades of pink against corduroy, and shoes that looked far from casual. Inattentive as I was to the sky's timing I nevertheless called it as witness to a new resolve to unwrap soft silence.
I said I would not be silent, but the winter's winds wrap new layers of silence, binding slowly in unanswered digital message threads. The autumn's resolve is boxed up like Christmas gifts remembering fears of neglect, asking will they too, have to wait hiding 'til next apple blossom time. Pretty little rings and things.
In the year of resentment at wrapping tablets come dreams of unwrapping new tablets.
Three tablets, one for each meeting at the bench.
The first crackles whiter than white, the second bursts whiter than blossoms on the tree by New Cross Gate (how extraordinary, before spring) and the third, the third sparkles brighter than the snow promising to show up at least once next year if I am not gone from this earth before then, and if not this earth, then this island of England's green.
Three tablets, one for each meeting at the bench, calling to rewind time if I lay on planks of wood asking if I am the one waiting to meet myself next apple blossom time.
I said I would not be silent, but the winter's winds wrap new layers of silence, binding slowly in unanswered digital message threads. The autumn's resolve is boxed up like Christmas gifts remembering fears of neglect, asking will they too, have to wait hiding 'til next apple blossom time. Pretty little rings and things.
In the year of resentment at wrapping tablets come dreams of unwrapping new tablets.
Three tablets, one for each meeting at the bench.
The first crackles whiter than white, the second bursts whiter than blossoms on the tree by New Cross Gate (how extraordinary, before spring) and the third, the third sparkles brighter than the snow promising to show up at least once next year if I am not gone from this earth before then, and if not this earth, then this island of England's green.
Three tablets, one for each meeting at the bench, calling to rewind time if I lay on planks of wood asking if I am the one waiting to meet myself next apple blossom time.