broken morning

    because art is risk and the day is bright you turn to the woman beside you still asleep who has gone to a country whose tongue you cannot speak and there on the trail of her neck matted with nightsweat you plant a kiss that will not take seed but will evaporate to ease a little heat away and something in her dream will turn to silence and the white of rain falling or the last good meal you had together looking into each other's eyes for a light to see by and here is the cat who lays one proprietary limb over both your ankles although in time he will let go without resentment to take water or prowl out the sound of a vagrant bird and empty sheets will not be sad but invitation and the music of what is persists over the heart's jazz because saying so does not let you off the plane because a word spoken becomes part of the weather because to know is to be soaked yet what can we do but be with the world.

26 October 2011   11:25 hours
it is better to let go { } oz journal