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
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.