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Wednesday, March 16, 2011

No Poem Deserves a Title

I glide past the staffs
and the nebulas and ledger lines,
Sliding past Pluto's touch 
                       and your arms.

Skimming the surface of the unknown,
I'm lovingly held there, suspended,
before I plunge in,
immersing myself beneath the tides of
everdom, searching for an infinite
beyond these chords.

When I close my eyes, colors
flash along my lashes
and jump into my vision,
silhouettes of you in glowing shadows.

With leopard vision I seek
the One with zebra stripes,
but am surprised to find Him
painting stars on my heart.

Unlocking it, I let him enter,
and he kindles a fire that
burns in my hair.
I let you play for my deafened ears,
but all I hear are rests, for
your tempo ran away
with the fermata,
and you are left holding nothing
ever since you decided you had a
different melody, and harmony just
wasn't your cup of coffee.

Still burning, the comets
run through my veins as I
meander along the coast of the
seventh galaxy,
thinking that "Hallelujah" is just
the most beautiful word.

I bite my pen as I think.

Returning to the coda, I trail
an eighth and some quarters,
wondering if you read the notes
I've left behind,
back when you still loved me
and the rests meant just as much
as my running.

Oh, you know I ran to you,
the kindling still between my ribs
as our teeth clanked together,
and as I dreamed in
black and white,
                          you said you did, too.

But nothing could convince you to stay.

So I left, and now He has
me, carrying me beyond the
vibrancy of the planets in their
sleepy turning. Every planet
is a giant, believe it or not.
                and I still love you, believe it or not.

and I still love.