A Still Life

My last night’s ritual falls on this table
watching a landscape spread across, vivid blue with raw images
of skies, wrappers of sunsets.
life from life
splitting beneath the heaviness of that sky.

A shadow sits on the curtains,
carefully weeding out
like music
Observing the forms of love that occurs.
Cheeks of orange crepe, cracking
a voice so brave and young I could hear.

A bed with two chairs.
Watching things falling in a syntax
of a molted clay
shaped like rooms inside a room.

I am again pondering
over chilled cold nights
over topic about men & Gods
as the air slips through my lips.

The existence that lives outside the memory.

21 thoughts on “A Still Life

  1. I love what you did here, it ends the poem perfectly:
    “I am again pondering
    over chilled cold nights
    over topic about men & Gods
    as the air slips through my lips.
    The existence that lives outside the memory.”

    Liked by 1 person

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