Saturday, November 2, 2013

perhaps, not so rare | a poem by a faust

perhaps is perhaps not so rare

keep still, as if yet you are young, and like everything
young, practicing, lie
so very v e r y

s   t     i       l         l              .                    .                           .

watching where the wood meets the walls in the corner
as the dust moves with the air your heart displaces
as the dust is tirelessly gathering time to itself
as your air settles and is still and as you

b r e a t h e

staying so still.  Possible futures ebb and flow, gather and die
the world threatening to make real enough the magick at which it had but hinted
proof enough that the burden
the proof
not yours

as it were your own if you are become like Cassandra or Cressid
living as you dream

you cannot explain, will not even start to,
you haven't the words as they must be in time
to a rhythm not yours, even had you the rhyme
nothing is yours till you can take it apart, til

you put it back together again.

setting out to do this proves on whose side the world is and
your heart is
the heart of a child, a feather, a friend

the whole world.  intact.  unaware it is special.  unaware that so rare a thing
that its you.

the dust will remember you, and live:

but you are the memory, and love.

the unspoken within is perhaps not alone
the unspoken within is perhaps as you choose

for Kayla P.
in response to "Shangri la"