Breadcrumbs

feathered stars
scattered silver

veins
across an indogen
palantir

she speaks
much
these nights
of her father

recalls

the unbottomed
black
of his eyes
the catholic
cry
of his laughter

in these
reckonings
lie clues

this
the man
knows

he knows
yes
he knows
yet
still cannot
follow

for
the ways
her ways
so steep
so slick
so shallow

dissolve

at even the
fancy
of touch

so he
reads

and reads
and reads
again

watching the words
roll and fall

cold mercury
fading
from her lips

©sdrogers 25 february 2014

Areel

Closeup.

There was a
chance,
a very real
chance,
that he might
disappear
completely
into her eyes.

Take.

What would that
be,
to disappear
completely
into such a darkness.
What would that
take
from him
What would that
give.

Low-angle.
Extreme.

Without label
Without title
Without purpose
beyond keeping the
light
always
just where she might
find it,
just where she might
tilt her head
just so
just where
she might never be
cold
again.

Cross-cutting
no more.

No more
bits
of life strewn
across another
floor,
no more
edits
no more
jumps
no more
wipes.

Just the
Iris-in
of silence.
And the
Dissolve
of life
as it was
meant
to be lived.

©sdrogers 10 february 2014

Resolution

There will be a
knock,
a Strong
knock,
at the
Front Door
of the
Little House.

I will be
Surprised.

Seldom does
anyone
knock
to enter
this place of
busyness.

I will rise.
or
I will turn.

I will be
Preoccupied.

I will be talking.
or
I will be laughing.

I hope
I am
laughing.

He does so
love
to hear me
laugh.

I will
open the door,
the Big door
first.
pulling hard.

(it always sticks)

And so

I will
be looking
down
before I look
up.

But

when I
do,

when I
lift
my eyes
level
to the second
door’s glass,

there
He
will be.

Smiling

at my stare.

He will
mouth,

Hello, Kitty

and I will
cry.

And we will
stand,
the clear glass
between
us,
both of
us
afraid

to shatter
a dream.

©sdrogers 7 january 2014

Noel

the shroud of night
folds back the dead
dry plains

and it is morning

clear and high and
full
of birds

where do they go

for the directionless
it is impossible to
know

we walk amid the
gas lights and bumper cars
and crowd crystals of
improbability
without North
without South

for the rudderless
Everywhere is
home

and it is morning
cold and keen and
light
with longing

I must check
and check and check
again

panties –√
bra –√
shirt (turned right) –√

never quite certain
all the pieces are in
place

and it is morning

when a stranger’s
frozen spittle
sparkles
on the grey ground
like beach glass in
July

this spot I do not
know

and yet we must have come
here
in the simmering cool of
summer nights
searching for a safe spot to
fumble and explore,

surrounded only by the
softly scented sage and the
cachectic call of crickets
under the pinhole dome of
this endless sky

but wait
no
that wasn’t
You
was it

or was it

has it been
always
only
You

every touch
through every night
in every morning

You
my greatest gift

You

©sdrogers 14 december 2013

High Maintenance

Manicures and facials
silk and satin
dressing for dinner
and ringing for the maid
to zip and unzip
me

The heads and hides
of slaughtered creatures
lying blind
across my shoulders
around my throat

A monochrome world
with Technicolor highlights

Yes, I could have lived it.
Perhaps I did.

Callouses and sun spots
cotton and flannel
sleeping in T-shirts
and kicking off socks
in piles at the foot of the
bed

The handmade love
of treasured friends
wrapping me warm
in ribbons of brown
in ripples of red

A sepia print
with accents of pink

Yes, I am living it.
Who could have dreamed?

Only you.

Only you
find no fault
in the love of
Shiny
that straddles both
worlds

Only you
pass no judgment
on the delight in
Prezzies
that colours both
lives

Only you
embrace the
Paradox
without question

Only you
work the
Puzzle
without force

Only you,
my Darling.

Only you.

©sdrogers 29 december 2013

If Only We Were Close Enough

but we are not
close enough

be my Little Brother

the one who holds my
head
when I drink too much

the one who knows my
lyrics
when I cannot sing

the one who walks me
home
when I no longer remember
where
home is

be my Rememberer

when I forget
remind me
Who
I am meant
to be

thank you, Keith

©sdrogers 20 october 2013

And I Would Read

to you
in bed
at night

surrounded by
pillows,
afloat in plush

but for the
side
by you

there you
lie
pressed against

my opening

there you
pulse
firm and hot,

your smiling
head
flat atop a thin

white plane

Tonight?
Tonight is… let’s see…
Salinger

Yes, tonight is
Salinger.  Jerry.
No, not Catcher

but the Glasses
Franny.  Zooey.
not Seymour

Seymour is sad
and tonight is
not for sadness

So lie there, darling

Close your
eyes
while I try

to manage
Franny
whispering the

Jesus prayer,
Franny
running on

forever
for ever and
ever between

delight and despair.

 

©sdrogers 27 september 2013