Wednesday, July 13, 2011

surface (volcanoes and the other side of gone) pt. 2

surface (volcanoes and the other side of gone) pt. 2

“But I'd like to be coming home to her”—

was it rising up through the ash-filled lake
that left his lips dry and tasting of gone?

or was it the sky-blackening eruption itself
raining down like angry grey snowflakes?

how could he possibly lick that taste
bitter and hard and distant from his lips?

how could he shake the ring of soot
from his ears and cowl-darkened eyes?

the photograph was small and digital
she smiled lying in a chair on the beach
with sunglasses masking her eyes  
his heart twisted from her bronze skin
the ring of her arm tattoo barely seen
and the flesh-colored bathing suit top
against a blue towel, sand, and ocean

though he was not on the other side
of that camera or the rest of her life

the surface of things spoken done and lost
and beneath it all boiled the heart of volcanoes

unlike mountains waving happiness on the horizon
singing songs of resurrection and healing and repair

and while others have written it and sung it sweetly
where ever she breathed was the only home he wanted

what then was on the other side of gone?
in photographs you cannot hear the ocean. . .

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