Saturday, April 16, 2016

52 weeks: a meditation in left neglect


My memories of before are all backlit 
I choose to believe 
we are in the process

becoming something 
though the cars feel as though they stand 
still on the track.

We discover the divided path was a loop
circling right 
until we've 
returned to each other again and again.

Our interpretive dances leave out 
whole meaning
and become drunken on incomplete 

Your heart still beats beneath the stone 
that's left.
I caress that wall as if to give it comfort
and find

I'm learning to self-soothe.
You continue
 to lay beside me
where I comb the air

in case your trailing monads are twirling
about your left 
margins, body-

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